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THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINA 
AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


ENDOWED  BY  THE 
DIALECTIC  AND  PHILANTHROPIC 
SOCIETIES 


PS  1  764 
.  G93 
T5 

1886 


&  A 

•A'  '■■  <f*- 
3£    A>  3* 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 

llllllllllllllllllH 

00008654208 


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THOMAS  "WHITT-A-IBZIEjDR. 

2  and  3  Bible  House,  New  York. 

The  king  turned  presently,  and  as  I  courtesied,  he  said  kindly, 
4t  Good-morrow,  sweetheart !   You  are  sunning-  your  roses  early." 

Page  31. 

THROUGH  UNKNOWN  WAYS. 


THROUGH  UNKNOWN  WAYS 


THE  JOURNAL-BOOKS  OF 


MRS.  DORATHEA  STUDLEY 


BY 


LUCY  ELLEN  GUERNSEY 

AUTHOR  OF  "LADY  BETTY'S  GOVERNESS,"  "OLDHAM," 
"THE  FOSTER-SISTERS,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

THOMAS  WHITTAKER 
2  and  3  Bible  House 


COPYBIGHT,  1886, 

By  THOMAS  WHITTAKER. 


TO  HER 

BIBLE-CLASS  AT  ST.  LUKE'S  CHURCH,  ROCHESTER, 

IS  AFFECTIONATELY  INSCRIBED  BY 
THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE  FIRST  BOOK  7 

THE  SECOND  BOOK  99 

THE  THIRD  BOOK  261 


THE  FIRST  BOOK. 


MRS.  STUDLEY'S  DIARY. 


BOOK  L 

December  10,  1684. 


ERHAPS  I  may  as  well  begin  this  book 
by  telling  how  I  came  to  write  it  at  all. 
Lady  Corbet,  my  mistress  (I  suppose  I 


ought  to  say  mine  honored  mistress,  but  I  sha'n't: 
I  am  going  to  have  the  comfort  of  speaking  my 
mind  in  these  pages,  if  nowhere  else).  But  to  be- 
gin again,  in  a  more  orderly  fashion.  Lady  Corbet, 
with  whom  I  am  living  as  waiting-gentlewoman, 
companion,  and  general  butt  for  ill-humors,  — 
there  I  go  again, — well,  Lady  Corbet  took  it  in 
her  head  to  give  me  the  use  of  this  cabinet.  She 
was  making  a  tour  of  inspection  of  the  whole 
house  to  which  we  have  just  removed,  and  had  . 
been  put  into  a  better  humor  than  was  usual  with 
her  so  early  in  the  day  by  finding  in  this  very 
cabinet  a  purse  with  three  gold  pieces  and  some 
silver,  left  here  I  suppose  by  Sir  Charles's  first 
wife,  —  poor,  pretty  Lady  J emima,  whose  portrait 
by  Lely  hangs  in  the  great  parlor.     My  lady 


10  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or> 


clutched  the  purse  as  a  dog  snaps  at  a  bone,  and 
dropped  it  into  her  pocket.  Then  she  took  up  a 
knot  or  favor  of  rose-colored  ribbon  spangled  with 
silver  which  lay  beside  it,  still  fresh  and  pretty, 
and  smelling  of  roses  like  every  thing  else  in  the 
cabinet. 

"  See  there,  child  ! "  said  she,  turning  to  me. 
"  The  poor  bedizened  thing  had  to  leave  all  her 
finery  and  fallals  behind  her  when  she  went  to  the 
grave.    There  is  a  lesson  for  you." 

"  And  her  money  also,  madam,"  said  Mf-s. 
Williams,  her  woman,  who  had  followed  us  with 
a  light  cloak  which  she  laid  about  Lady  Corbet's 
shoulders.  Mrs.  Williams  is  not  afraid  of  my 
lady,  as  I  am ;  but  then,  she  can  leave  when  she 
pleases. 

"What  do  yo  you  mean,  Williams?"  asked  my 
lady.  "  Of  course  I  know  that.  We  must  leave 
every  thing  behind  us  when  we  die.  You  have 
heard  me  say  that  a  thousand  times." 

"Not  quite  every  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Williams. 
"  I  think,  my  lady,  this  would  be  a  good  room  for 
Mrs.  Dolly.  It  is  not  near  enough  for  her  to  dis- 
turb you,  and  yet  she  can  hear  when  you  whistle." 

My  heart  jumped  at  this  proposal;  but,  knowing 
my  lady,  I  was  careful  not  to  show  any  pleasure : 
on  the  contrary,  when  Mrs.  Williams  appealed  to 
me,  I  answered,  "  It  would  do  well  enough,  I  sup- 
posed." 

"Well  enough!  Yes,  I  think  it  will  do  well 
enough  and  too  well  for  a  chit  like  you,  since  it  has 


'Mrs.  Studhy's  Diary. 


11 


served  an  earl's  daughter  in  its  time,"  said  my  lady 
tartly.  "  You  shall  have  this  room,  and  no  other, 
do  you  hear?  and  you  can  have  this  cabinet  to 
keep  your  finery  in." 

"  Yes,  I  have  so  much  finery !  "  I  could  not  help 
saying. 

"  Oh,  you  are  not  so  badly  off  as  all  that ! "  an- 
swered my  lady.  "  One  would  think  you  had  not 
clothes  to  your  back !  " 

"Mrs.  Dolly  will  need  some  new  gowns,  my 
lady,"  said  Mrs.  Williams.  "  I  had  better  buy  her 
a  camlet  for  Sundays,  and  some  stuff  for  every 
day." 

11  Nonsense  !  You  can  make  over  my  gray  camlet 
for  her,  if  she  needs  it.  However,  I  don't  mind 
for  once.  Here,  child,  is  a  guinea  for  you,  and 
mind  you  take  care  of  it.  You  were  best  let  Wil- 
liams buy  your  gowns,  however.  There,  I  won't 
go  any  farther  to-day.  Tell  Jeremy  to  bring  your 
mail  up  here,  and  you  can  be  putting  your  things 
in  order  while  I  am  resting ,  but  don't  disturb  me 
with  your  noise,  and  be  ready  to  read  to  me  when 
I  wake." 

This  conversation  took  place  the  day  before  yes- 
terday, on  which  day  my  Lady  Corbet  removed 
from  her  own  house,  where  she  has  lived  ever 
since  she  became  a  widow,  to  this  which  was  the 
mansion  of  her  late  husband,  Sir  Charles  Corbet. 
She  has  never  been  here  before  since  his  death, 
but  has  lived  in  her  own  house  in  the  city.  But 
the  land  having  become  valuable,  and  this  house 


12  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


standing  empty,  she  all  at  once  made  up  her  mind 
to  remove.  The  house  was  already  furnished,  so 
it  was  no  great  trouble.  For  some  reason  which 
I  don't  understand,  it  has  never  been  lived  in  since 
Sir  Charles  died,  and  was  damp  and  dingy  enough ; 
but  a  few  charwomen,  under  Mrs.  Williams's  active 
superintendence,  soon  gave  it  another  aspect,  and 
now  it  is  nice  and  pleasant,  and  even  my  lady  ad- 
mits is  far  more  sunny  and  healthful  than  her  city 
abode. 

For  my  part,  I  am  glad  of  the  change  with  all 
my  heart.  It  is  a  change,  for  one  thing,  and  I 
have  had  but  little  variety  heretofore.  Then  we 
are  at  the  court  end  of  the  town,  not  far  from 
Whitehall,  and  there  is  a  deal  of  coming  and  going 
of  fine  equipages  and  of  well-dressed  ladies  and 
gentlemen.  Best  of  all,  I  can  see  from  mine  own 
window  a  good  piece  of  the  park  and  of  the  water 
where  the  king  keeps  his  tame  fowls.  They  say 
he  walks  there  early  every  morning :  so,  if  I  rise 
soon  enough,  I  may  chance  to  see  him. 

To  return  to  my  story.  I  unpacked  my  mail, 
which  was  no  heavy  task,  seeing  I  have  so  few 
personal  belongings,  and  then  set  myself  to  ex- 
amine the  cabinet.  It  is  large  and  very  pretty, 
inlaid  with  ivory  and  brass  work,  and  having 
many  drawers  and  compartments.  I  discovered 
nothing  save  a  few  old-fashioned  trinkets  in  a 
private  drawer,  some  odds  and  ends  of  ribbon  and 
lace,  and  a  great  heap  of  letters  and  bills,  very  few 
of  which  were  receipted.    There  were  two  or 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary. 


13 


three  cupboards  in  the  room ;  and  on  the  top  shelf 
of  one  of  these  I  deposited  all  the  papers,  meaning 
to  look  over  the  letters  at  my  leisure. 

In  clearing  out  one  of  the  compartments,  I 
touched  a  spring,  it  seems ;  for  the  whole  panel 
at  the  back  slipped  aside,  and  disclosed  a  toler- 
ably deep  recess,  wherein  was  a  pile  of  books, 
neatly  bound  and  clasped.  Eagerly  I  pulled  them 
out  and  opened  them,  hoping  to  find  something 
in  the  way  of  entertaining  reading,  but  they  were 
all  blank  paper.  In  the  beginning  of  the  largest 
was  written,  in  a  somewhat  stiff  hand,  this  inscrip- 
tion :  — 

"  When  I  was  wedded,  my  dear  and  honored  mother  gave 
me  a  set  of  books  like  to  these,  in  order  that  T  might  keep 
an  account  of  my  private  expenses,  and  also  set  down  such 
matters  of  interest  as  I  might  wish  to  remember,  and  such 
pieces  of  devotion  as  should  be  useful  to  me.  I  have  fol- 
lowed her  counsel  in  this  matter  all  my  life,  and  have  found 
great  benefit  therein.  I  give  these  books  to  my  dear  daugh- 
ter Jemima,  that  she  may  follow  the  same  practice." 

But  it  seems  Lady  Jem  never  did  follow  it  to 
any  great  extent;  for  the  books  are  all  blank, 
with  the  exception  of  a  few  items  set  down  on 
the  first  page  of  the  account  book,  and  two  or 
three  receipts  for  washes  and  cordials  in  the 
others.  I  was  musing  over  the  old-fashioned, 
cramped  handwriting,  and  wondering  what  the 
good  old  lady  would  have  said  to  her  daughter's 
gay  career,  —  but  she  died,  happily  or  unhappily, 
soon  after  Lady  Jem's  marriage,  —  when  the 


14  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

thought  occurred  to  me,  why  should  not  I  keep 
a  journal,  and  so  have  some  place  to  pour  out  my 
thoughts,  which  place  I  have  not  now.  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams is  kind  to  me  always,  and  I  believe  she  is 
truly  my  friend ;  but  she  never  encourages  me  to 
talk  about  myself  or  my  mistress.  Perhaps  she  is 
right  and  wise ;  but,  at  any  rate,  that  is  her  way. 
I  used  to  make  something  of  a  confidant  of  Mrs. 
Ursula  Robertson,  my  lady's  cousin,  who  visits 
here  now  and  then.  But  one  day  I  heard  her  re- 
peating to  my  lady  some  slighting  remarks  which 
Mrs.  Pendergast,  the  minister's  wife,  had  made 
about  her,  and  that  was  enough  for  me.  "  A  dog 
that  will  fetch  a  bone  will  carry  a  bone,"  is  an  old, 
and  mayhap  a  somewhat  vulgar,  proverb,  but  it 
is  a  true  one.  I  have  no  doubt  now  that  she  led 
me  on  to  say  things  about  my  mistress  which  she 
afterward  repeated  to  her,  and  thus  helped  to  set 
her  against  me.  Well,  all  of  a  sudden  the  thought 
came  into  my  mind,  "  Why  should  not  I  make  a 
friend  of  these  books,  and  confide  to  them.  They 
at  least,  will  not  tattle  again,  since  I  have  a  snug 
hiding-place  for  them."  I  am  usually  sure  of  two 
hours  every  day,  while  my  lady  takes  her  after- 
noon nap,  and  I  can  sometimes  gain  another  by 
early  rising  in  summer,  —  not  at  this  time  of  year, 
however,  for  my  lady  keeps  count  of  every  inch 
of  candle  burned  in  the  house. 

December  21. 

It  was  late  when  I  found  my  treasures  yesterday, 
and  I  had  little  time  to  write ;  but  my  lady  to-day 


Mrs,  Studley's  Diary. 


15 


dismissed  me  earlier  than  usual,  and  I  hastened  to 
my  retreat.  I  cannot  enough  thank  Mrs.  Williams 
for  securing  it  to  me.  Where  we  lived  before,  my 
room  was  directly  over  my  lady's,  and  I  could  not 
stir  but  she  heard  me ;  but  here  I  might  dance  a 
reel,  and  she  be  none  the  wiser.  But  I  said  I 
would  begin  with  the  story  of  my  life,  and  here 
it  is. 

I  was  born  on  Christmas  Day  in  1667,  and  ought 
therefore  to  be  a  very  lucky  child ;  but  my  luck,  if 
I  ever  fulfil  my  destiny,  is  yet  to  come.  I  do  not 
remember  my  father  at  all.  He  was  a  cousin  of 
Sir  Charles  Corbet's,  and  died  fighting  the  Moors 
at  Bombain, 1  — that  barren  piece  of  the  queen's 
dowry,  which  is  like  to  cost  a  good  deal  more  than 
it  will  ever  come  to.  ( I  believe,  after  all,  they 
were  Indians  and  not  Moors,  and  that  the  Moors 
live  at  Tangier :  but  it  does  not  greatly  matter.) 
My  mother  being  left  a  widow,  with  but  small 
means,  —  for  she  never  had  even  my  father's  back 
pay,  much  less  the  pension  which  was  promised 
her,  —  bethought  herself  of  turning  her  very  good 
education  to  account  by  opening  a  school  for 
young  ladies  at  Hackney,  where  we  then  lived; 
and  an  opportunity  offering  she  went  into  partner- 
ship with  a  lady  who  had  for  a  long  time  kept  a 
boarding-school.  Mrs.  Price  was  her  name,  and 
she  was  a  wealthy  woman.  She  was  getting  on  in 
years,  and  needed  an  assistant;  and,  knowing  of 
my  mother,  she  sent  for  her,  and  proposed  to  put 


1  What  we  now  call  Bombay. 


16  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


into  her  hands  the  active  duties  of  the  school,  she 
herself  remaining  at  the  head  of  the  establishment. 
My  mother  jumped  at  the  chance,  for  it  was  truly 
a  good  one,  better  than  she  had  any  reason  to  ex- 
pect. It  gave  her  the  opportunity  of  learning  the 
ways  of  a  good  school,  and  at  the  same  time  of 
educating  me,  then  a  tall  girl  of  five  years  old. 

But  here  my  dear  mother  made  a  great  mistake. 
She  put  all  her  little  capital,  some  hundreds  of 
pounds,  into  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Price's  man  of  busi- 
ness, without  a  scrap  of  acknowledgment,  —  not 
even  a  receipt.  He  was  Mrs.  Price's  nephew,  and 
he  made  great  professions  of  piety.  His  aunt 
trusted  him  entirely,  and  my  poor  mother  thought 
she  could  do  no  less.  All  went  well  enough  for 
some  years.  My  mother  managed  the  school  and 
the  young  ladies,  and  I  went  on  with  my  educa- 
tion. I  was  always  fond  of  my  book,  and  espe- 
cially of  my  music  and  languages ;  and  at  fifteen 
I  could  write  and  read  well,  speak  French  and  a 
little  Italian,  dance,  and  play  on  the  lute  and  vir- 
ginals. I  had  my  little  troubles  and  school  scrapes, 
of  course,  and  was  crossed  and  contradicted,  like 
other  young  things ;  but  I  do  not  believe  many 
people  have  had  a  happier  life  than  I  enjoyed  up 
to  that  time. 

Then  my  troubles  began.  Mrs.  Price  died  first. 
She  had  always  said  she  meant  to  leave  the  school 
and  the  house  to  my  mother,  having  no  near  kin 
but  her  nephew,  who  was  rich  already.  But  no 
will  was  to  be  found.    Mr.  Harpe  —  Harpy  he 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary. 


17 


ought  to  have  been  called  —  took  possession  of 
every  thing,  even  to  the  poor  lady's  clothes,  and 
coolly  told  my  mother  he  did  not  mean  to  con- 
tinue the  school,  and  so  should  have  no  occasion 
for  her  services ;  and,  when  she  demanded  the  re- 
turn of  the  three  hundred  pounds  she  had  put  into 
his  hands,  he  had  the  audacity  to  deny  the  whole 
thing,  and  defy  her  to  prove  that  he  owed  her 
any  thing,  and  she  could  not  prove  it.  Mrs.  Price, 
the  only  person  knowing  to  the  transaction,  was 
dead  and  gone ;  and,  as  I  said,  mother  had  not  a 
receipt  or  a  scrap  of  paper  to  substantiate  her 
claim.  She  had  ten  pounds  in  her  pocket,  and 
Mr.  Harpe  had  the  generosity  to  give  her  ten  more  ; 
saying,  that  though  she  had  tried  to  wrong  him, 
he  would  not  turn  her  out  penniless,  and  adding 
something  in  his  sanctimonious  tone  about  return- 
ing good  for  evil,  which  made  me  long  to  choke 
him.  It  must  have  gone  hard  with  mother  to  take 
the  money,  for  she  was  a  high-spirited  woman ;  but 
I  suppose  she  thought  of  me,  and  put  her  pride  in 
her  pocket.  A  good  woman  lived  near  us  whose 
daughter  had  been  my  school-friend.  Poor  Emma 
had  died  not  long  before  of  a  waste,  and  my  mother 
had  helped  to  nurse  her.  This  good  lady  gave  us 
a  home,  though  she  was  far  from  being  rich ;  and 
in  her  house  my  dear  mother  died  when  I  was  six- 
teen. She  said  on  her  death-bed  that  she  wished 
she  could  take  me  with  her,  and  I  am  sure  I  wish 
she  had.  Bab  Andrews  was  reading  the  other 
day  of  some  Indians  who  buried  girl  babies  with 


18  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


their  dead  mothers.  I  am  not  sure  but  it  is  a 
good  way. 

The  lady  with  whom  I  lived,  Mrs.  Jenkins,  was 
related  to  Mrs.  Williams,  my  Lady  Corbet's  woman. 
Through  her,  she  made  known  to  Sir  Charles  Cor- 
bet, my  kinsman,  my  forlorn  condition,  and  he 
and  Mrs.  Williams  somehow  coaxed  my  lady  to  take 
me  into  her  service ;  and  here  I  have  been  for  two 
miserable  years,  the  slave  of  her  whims,  and  the 
butt  of  her  ill-temper.  Sir  Charles  was  good  to 
me,  in  his  careless  way,  while  he  lived;  but  he 
died  only  a  year  after  my  entrance  into  the  fam- 
ily. They  say  he  married  my  lady  for  her  money, 
and  because  she  promised  to  pay  his  debts.  If  so, 
I  am  sure  he  paid  dearly  for  the  help  she  gave 
him.  Such  a  life  as  she  led  him  !  But  he  was 
a  man,  and  could  get  away  from  home ;  and  now 
and  then  he  would  assert  himself,  and  fairly  make 
her  afraid  of  him,  as  when  she  insisted  on  remov- 
ing the  likeness  of  Lady  Jemima,  which  I  have 
mentioned  before,  from  the  drawing-room.  I  ex- 
pected to  see  the  picture  consigned  to  the  garret 
when  we  came  back  here,  but  I  do  believe  she  has 
a  superstitious  dread  of  touching  it. 

When  Sir  Charles  lay  on  his  death-bed,  he  called 
me  to  him  one  day,  and  gave  me  a  gold  chain, 
with  a  little  locket  attached  to  it,  in  the  shape  of 
a  small  egg,  bidding  me  put  it  on  and  wear  it,  but 
secretly.  Then  calling  on  Dr.  Clark  and  his  own 
man,  who  were  both  in  the  room,  he  bade  them 
bear  witness  that  he  gave  me  the  locket. 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  19 


"Promise  me  that  you  will  never  open  it  till 
you  are  married,  and  then  only  on  some  pinch, 
when  you  need  money:  and,  above  all,  never  let 
my  wife  see  it.  Promise  me  !  "  he  said  earnestly, 
holding  my  hand  with  a  clasp  that  hurt  me. 

"I  promise,"  said  I. 

"That  is  well,"  he  answered.  "Now  look  in 
the  back  of  yonder  drawer,  and  bring  me  a  pic- 
ture you  will  find  there."  I  did  so.  It  was  a 
miniature  of  Lady  Jemima,  with  a  chain  attached. 

"Put  it  round  my  neck,"  he  said  to  his  man 
Richards,  who  was  waiting  on  him. 

Richards  did  so,  I  helping  him.  Sir  Charles 
thanked  us  both,  and  kissed  me.  Seeing  a  change 
in  his  face,  which  I  knew  too  well,  I  ventured  to 
suggest  that  he  should  send  for  a  clergyman. 

"Do,  Sir  Charles!  it  can  do  no  harm,"  urged 
poor  Richards,  the  tears  running  down  his  face,  for 
he  loved  his  master.  "Do  let  me  or  Mrs.  Dolly 
run  for  Dr.  Gibson." 

Sir  Charles  shook  his  head,  with  a  faint  smile. 
"  No,  no  !  "  said  he  ;  "  at  least,  I  will  make  no  false 
pretences." 

"  But,  dear  cousin,  it  need  not  be  a  pretence," 
I  said.    "Do  but  try  to  trust  in  God." 

He  shook  his  head  again.  "  No,  child :  I  have 
doubted  so  long,  I  have  lost  the  power  of  believing. 
Dress  me  for  the  grave  yourself,  Richards,  and  see 
that  the  picture  lies  on  my  heart." 

"At  least  let  Mrs.  Dolly  call  my  lady,"  said  the 
doctor,  for  he  changed  more  and  more. 


20  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


"No,  no  !  Let  me  at  least  die  in  peace.  I  am 
glad  she  is  not  here."  And  in  a  moment  he  was 
gone. 

My  lady  made  no  great  pretence  of  grief  for  her 
husband,  beyond  putting  on  very  deep  weeds.  I 
do  not  think  she  ever  cared  for  him.  He  married 
for  money,  and  she  because  she  had  an  ambition 
for  title  and  fashion.  Both  were  disappointed  in 
a  great  measure :  for  he  was  ashamed  of  her,  and 
would  never  take  her  to  court ;  and  her  money 
was  all  tied  up  in  her  own  hands.  She  gave  him 
what  she  liked,  and  I  fancy  that  was  very  little. 

Of  course  I  never  told  my  lady  of  Sir  Charles's 
dying  gift,  and  should  not,  even  if  I  had  not  prom- 
ised. She  would  insist  on  opening  it,  and  would 
probably  take  it  away  from  me  altogether.  I  can- 
not open  the  locket  myself,  if  I  would.  It  has  no 
visible  opening,  though  of  course  there  must  be 
one  somewhere.  And  I  would  not  if  I  could  —  at 
least,  I  think  not. 

December  24. 

Christmas  Eve  —  but  one  must  not  dare  to  say 
Christmas  in  this  house.  At  Mrs.  Price's  school 
we  used  to  have  fine  doings  on  Christmas  Eve  for 
the  family,  and  those  of  the  ladies  who  did  not  go 
home  for  the  holidays.  We  used  to  dress  up  the 
great  schoolroom  with  ivy  and  holly,  and  Mrs. 
Price  wrould  always  have  a  branch  of  mistletoe 
hung  in  the  midst,  to  keep  up  old  fashions,  as 
she  said;  though  her  pious  nephew,  Mr.  Harpe, 
shook  his  head  at  it,  and  said  it  was  a  relic  of 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


21 


paganism  and  unfit  for  a  Christian  household. 
Then  we  had  grand  games  of  "-hunt  the  slipper," 
"hoodman  blind,"  and  "  forfeits,"  ending  off  at 
nine  with  a  fine  hot  supper  of  spiced  frumenty  and 
plum-porridge.  On  Christmas  Day  we  all  went  to 
church,  and  came  home  to  a  dinner  of  beef,  fowls, 
and  plum-pudding  for  all  the  household.  Mistress 
Price  did  love  to  see  happy  faces  about  her ;  and 
she  had  an  assistant,  like-minded  with  herself,  in 
dear  mother.  After  dinner  we  used  to  carry  little 
gifts  we  had  made  to  the  poor  old  people  and 
orphan  children  who  lived  at  some  old  almshouses 
which  joined  our  garden  at  the  back,  —  another 
practice  to  which  Mr.  Harpe  objected,  —  and 
whan  we  came  home  we  found  each  a  pretty 
Christmas-box  by  her  plate  at  supper-time.  My 
last  one,  I  know,  was  a  prayer-book  bound  in 
purple  leather.  I  had  it  for  a  long  time ;  but 
unluckily  one  day  my  lady  caught  sight  of  it,  and 
took  it  away,  saying  she  would  have  no  such  rags 
of  popery  under  her  roof  Since  then  I  have 
never  seen  one,  nor  have  I  been  inside  a  church 
since  I  came  to  this  house.  My  lady  never  goes 
to  any  place  of  worship.  She  says  she  is  not  able, 
though  she  can  go  to  other  places  when  she  has  a 
mind.  I  heard  Mr.  Baxter  remonstrating  with 
her  about  it  the  last  time  he  was  here.  She  an- 
swered shortly,  that  she  best  knew  the  state  of  her 
own  health,  adding,  — 

"But  I  hate  prelacy  and  popery  and  all  their 
adherents  as  much  as  you  do,  Mr.  Baxter." 


22  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


"  Madam,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  I  must  tell 
you  that  a  religion  which  has  no  foundation  but 
hatred  is  not  likely  to  be  very  acceptable  to  the 
God  of  love." 

Whereat  my  lady  looked  blacker  than  a  thunder- 
cloud, but  she  stands  too  much  in  awe  of  Mr. 
Baxter  to  fall  upon  him.  However,  she  took  it 
out  on  me  afterward.  I  could  not  blame  Mr. 
Baxter  if  he  did  hate  the  prelatists,  for  certainly  he 
has  had  very  hard  measure ;  but  no  one  has  ever 
molested  my  lady.  But  I  don't  think  Mr.  Baxter 
has  any  such  feeling.  Certainly  I  too  have  had 
hard  measure  from  Mr.  Harpe  and  my  lady,  but  I 
don't  hate  all  Presbyterians  for  their  sake.  On  the 
contrary,  I  am  very  sorry  for  them,  and  think  them 
very  hardly  dealt  by ;  and  I  do  like  Mr.  Baxter 
and  the  Pendergasts.  T  am  indebted  to  Mr.  Bax- 
ter for  a  good  turn,  and  I  shall  not  forget  it.  One 
day  when  I  went  out  alone,  I  found  on  a  bookstall 
a  book  new  to  me.  It  was  a  kind  of  fable  or  alle- 
gory, called  "  The  Pilgrim's  Progress  ;  "  and,  after 
reading  a  few  pages  therein,  I  took  such  a  fancy 
to  it  that  I  bought  it  for  sixpence.  I  was  so  silly 
as  to  take  it  out  one  day  in  my  lady's  room,  and  of 
course  she  came  in  and  caught  me.  She  took  the 
book  away,  and  was  going  to  burn  it ;  but  at  Mrs. 
Williams's  intercession  she  kept  it  to  show  to  Mr. 
Baxter,  whom  she  expected  that  evening.  He 
took  it  and  looked  it  over  with  interest. 

"  I  have  heard  of  the  volume,  but  never  have 
seen  it  before,"  said  he ;  and  then  turning  to  me, 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


23 


with  his  usual  politeness  he  added,  "With  your 
leave,  Mrs.  Dolly,  I  will  take  the  book  home  and 
examine  it  at  my  leisure." 

"  Of  course  you  can  do  so,"  said  my  lady,  taking 
the  words  out  of  my  mouth  as  I  was  about  to 
answer.  "  ?Tis  not  for  her  to  say  what  books  she 
shall  read,  I  trow.  But  is  not  this  Bunyan  a 
Quaker  or  some  such  thing  ?  I  am  sure  I  have 
heard  so." 

"  He  is  an  Anabaptist,  and  so  in  some  sort  a 
heretic,  no  doubt,"  answered  Mr.  Baxter;  "but, 
from  all  I  have  heard  of  him,  I  believe  that  he  is  a 
good  man,  and  preaches  the  root  of  the  matter." 

He  took  the  book  away  with  him,  and  I  never 
expected  to  see  it  again;  but  he  returned  it  the 
next  day  with  a  note,  saying  that  he  could  hon- 
estly recommend  the  piece  as  not  only  orthodox, 
but  edifying,  and  likely  to  interest  young  people, 
whose  imaginations  were  naturally  taken  with  truth 
conveyed  in  the  form  of  an  allegory  or  tale,  lie 
also  enclosed  with  it  a  sermon  on  the  peculiar 
errors  of  the  Anabaptists,  which  he  hoped  I  would 
read.  And  so  I  did,  for  I  read  it  aloud  to  my  lady. 
I  can't  say  I  was  much  the  wiser ;  for  by  long 
practice  on  the  kind  of  books  my  lady  affects,  I 
have  learned  the  art  of  reading  aloud  tolerably 
well,  and  thinking  my  own  thoughts  at  the  same 
time.  I  began  to  read  "  The  Pilgrim's  Progress" 
to  her;  but  she  soon  stopped  me,  saying  it  was 
only  a  fairy  tale,  just  fit  for  such  fools  as  I  was. 
My  own  notion  is  that  it  stirred  up  her  conscience, 


24  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

and  that  she  did  not  like  the  feeling.  So  I  had 
my  book  to  myself;  and  I  have  read  it  more  than 
once,  though  it  makes  me  uncomfortable.  For,  if 
it  be  true,  what  is  my  condition  ?  I  know  very 
well  I  am  not  religious.  I  do  not  even  pretend  to 
be  so  any  more.  Only  that  I  know  a  few  people 
like  Mr.  Baxter  and  Mrs.  Williams,  and  that  I 
remember  my  own  mother,  1  should  think  all 
religion  a  mere  pretence  and  hypocrisy.  My  lady 
never  goes  to  any  place  of  worship,  as  I  said.  I 
don't  believe  her  health  has  any  thing  to  do  with 
the  matter,  however.  I  think  she  is  afraid  of  fines 
and  sequestrations,  and  of  being  asked  for  money. 
I  know  she  was  very  angry  at  being  asked  to  con- 
tribute to  a  fund  for  the  support  of  some  poor 
minister's  family,  so  much  so  that  when  Mr.  Pen- 
dergast  came  again  she  would  not  see  him.  It 
must  be  very  disagreeable  to  be  on  the  losing  side, 
and  yet  take  no  comfort  in  one's  religion ;  but,  to 
be  sure,  she  has  the  pleasure  of  being  contrary. 
There  is  her  whistle,  and  I  know  by  the  very 
sound  that  she  is  in  a  temper.  I  shall  not  go  till 
I  have  put  away  my  books,  however.  She  may  as 
Well  scold  for  one  thing  as  another. 

December  25,  Christmas  Day. 

But  not  much  like  Christmas.  Nothing  would 
serve  my  lady  but  a  dinner  of  dried  ling  and  pars- 
nips. However,  Mary  Mathews  had  leave  to  go 
see  her  mother,  and  she  brought  me  home  a  mince- 
pie.    How  homelike  it  tasted  !    In  the  evening, 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


25 


however,  we  did  have  some  diversion.  Ursula 
Robertson  came  in,  and  brought  her  cousin,  who 
has  just  returned  from  Scotland  where  he  had  a 
command.  He  is  a  fine,  handsome,  personable  man, 
and  polite  in  a  frank,  soldierly  fashion,  and  evi- 
dently took  my  lady's  fancy  ;  at  which  I  wondered, 
for  certainly  he  makes  no  pretensions  to  sanctity. 

"  Where  have  you  served  ?  "  she  asked  him  by 
and  by. 

"  At  Tangier  mostly,  madam,  and  since  then  in 
Scotland." 

Now,  we  all  know  what  service  in  Scotland 
means ;  and  I  expected  to  see  my  lady  fly  out,  but 
she  did  not. 

"  You  will  find  England  but  dull  after  such  a 
stirring  life  abroad,"  said  she.  "  Why  did  you 
come  home  ?  " 

"  On  account  of  sickness,  madam.  I  was  so  ill 
that  my  life  was  despaired  of,  and  an  old  wound 
that  I  got  fighting  the  Moors  broke  out  again." 
And  then  he  added  some  compliment  about  the 
sight  of  fair  English  faces  working  a  cure,  with  a 
deep  reverence,  as  he  spoke,  to  Ursula  and  me. 
He  makes  a  very  graceful  bow. 

"  I  will  not  have  Dolly's  head  turned  with  com- 
pliments," said  my  lady.  "She  is  quite  vain 
enough  as  it  is.  And  what  are  you  about  now,  if 
one  may  ask?  " 

"  My  good  lady  the  Duchess  of  Portsmouth  has 
promised  to  use  her  interest  to  procure  for  me  a 
small  place  about  the  court,"  answered  Mr.  Morley 


26  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


(that  is  his  name,  though  I  forgot  to  say  so)  ;  "  no 
great  matter,  but  enough  for  the  modest  wants  of 
a  poor  cavalier  till  he  has  the  luck  to  make  his 
fortune." 

"  Oh,  you  think  to  marry  an  heiress,  I  dare 
say! "  said  my  lady  sharply  ;  and  then,  some  other 
guests  coming  in,  she  turned  to  them,  and  left  Mr. 
Morley  to  entertain  us  young  ones.  I  must  say 
he  made  himself  very  agreeable.  When  they 
were  going  away,  Ursula  seized  a  chance  to  ask 
me  how  I  liked  her  cousin. 

"  Well  enough,  all  I  have  seen  of  him,"  said  I. 
"  But  what  do  your  father  and  your  aunt  and 
uncle  Pendergast  say  to  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  father  does  not  trouble  himself  about 
him,  and  my  uncle  and  aunt  have  not  seen  him ! 
But  is  he  not  a  gallant  gentleman  ?  It  was  a  fine 
thing  his  knowing  the  Duchess  of  Portsmouth 
when  they  were  both  young.  But  for  her  he 
never  would  have  got  this  promotion.  'Tis  a  fine 
thing  to  have  court  influence,"  she  added  some- 
what enviously.  "  But  of  course  we  poor  Presby- 
terians can't  hope  for  such  a  thing." 

"  I  don't  believe  your  father  or  your  uncle  Pen- 
dergast would  accept  of  promotion  from  such  a 
quarter,"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  well,  of  course  it  is  different  with  a  young 
man  and  a  soldier,  and  my  cousin  Morley  does  not 
pretend  to  be  religious  !  " 

But  I  don't  see  what  difference  that  makes.  If 
there  be  any  thing  in  religion  at  all,  then  the  neg- 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary. 


27 


lecting  thereof  cannot  be  an  excuse  for,  but  only 
an  aggravation  of,  wrong-doing. 

Twelfth  Day,  1685. 
I  wish  holidays  could  be  left  out  of  the  year,  or 
else  that  I  could  forget  them,  since  they  only  bring 
up  sorrowful  memories.  What  famous  Twelfth 
Day  games  we  used  to  have  at  Mrs.  Price's!  The 
very  last  one  I  spent  there  I  got  the  bean  in  the  cake, 
and  was  crowned  with  a  fine  coronet  of  gilt  paper, 
beset  with  beads,  which  dear  mother  had  prepared 
on  the  sly  for  a  surprise  to  us.  To  think  that  is 
only  two  years  ago  :  it  seems  like  a  lifetime. 
However,  I  did  have  something  like  a  holiday  to- 
day; for  my  lady,  being  in  a  wonderful  good-humor, 
allowed  me  to  go  with  Ursula  to  her  uncle's  house, 
that  we  might  see  the  king  passing  to  dine  with 
the  mayor  and  aldermen.  I  had  a  good  look  at 
his  Majesty  and  the  Duke  of  York.  They  have 
both  harsh  features,  and  could  never  be  called 
handsome  if  they  were  not  royal  personages;  but 
I  like  the  king's  face  the  best  of  the  two,  because 
it  is  the  better-natured.  I  saw  that  he  smiled 
kindly  on  a  poor  woman  who  pressed  forward  to 
put  a  petition  into  his  hand.  I  saw,  too,  that  he 
presently  let  it  drop  without  ever  looking  at  it: 
so  his  good-nature  did  not  amount  to  very  much. 
The  Duke  of  York  looked  black  as  night  all  the 
time. 

"  His  Majesty  is  not  looking  well,"  said  a  voice 
at  my  elbow.  I  turned  with  a  start,  and  saw  Mr. 
Morley. 


28 


Through  Unknoivn  Ways;  or. 


"  How  came  you  hither  ?  "  asked  Ursula  rather 
tartly. 

"  What  a  question  !  Ask  the  iron  how  it  comes 
to  the  lodestone,"  answered  Capt.  Morley,  with  a 
deep  reverence  which  included  both  of  us.  "Not 
being  in  waiting  to-day,  what  more  natural  than 
that  I  should  give  a  visit  to  my  fair  kinswoman, 
and,  learning  that  she  was  gone  abroad,  what  more 
natural  than  that  I  should  follow  her?" 

"  You  have  learned  your  courtier's  trade  al- 
ready," said  Ursula.  "  Soldiers  do  not  pay  such 
fine  compliments,  do  they,  Dolly?" 

uHow  should  I  know,"  I  answered,  "since  I 
never  knew  either  courtier  or  soldier  in  all  my 
life?" 

"  No,  I  fancy  good  Mrs.  Price  did  not  allow 
such  dangerous  creatures  in  her  bounds,"  returned 
Ursula,  whereat  Capt.  Morley  said  something 
about  the  dragon  that  kept  the  gardens  where 
grew  the  golden  fruit.  "  But  we  all  know  that 
the  sweetest  flowers  bloom  in  shady  places,"  he 
added,  at  which  Ursula  looked  ready  to  bite.  I 
don't  know  why  he  should  bestow  so  many  fine 
phrases  on  me,  unless  he  wishes  to  make  Ursula 
jealous ;  and  I  don't  know  why  he  should  wish  to 
do  that,  for  he  must  know  that  his  cousin  is  con- 
tracted already  to  a  merchant  in  the  city.  And 
even  if  she  were  not,  her  father  would  hardly  give 
her  to  a  needy  courtier,  and  one,  too,  who  has 
been  a  persecutor  under  Claverhouse.  Mr.  An- 
drews, Ursula's  servant,  coming  in  at  that  moment, 


Mrs.  Studleijs  Diary. 


29 


Mr.  Morley  devoted  himself  specially  to  me,  and 
I  must  say  made  himself  very  agreeable.  Ursula 
recovered  her  good-humor  in  some  degree  when 
Mr.  Andrews  made  his  appearance,  but  I  could  see 
she  was  all  the  time  listening  to  hear  what  Mr. 
Morley  was  saying  to  me.  Mr.  Andrews  is  a  fine, 
personable  man,  rich,  and  of  good  address  and 
education.  I  think  she  might  be  satisfied  with 
him. 

"  I  hear  the  king  is  not '  quite  himself  these 
days,"  said  Mr.  Andrews,  addressing  himself  to 
Mr.  Morley. 

"  'Tis  true,  sir,  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  answered 
Mr.  Morley.  "  I  trust  it  is  nothing  serious,  how- 
ever, no  more  than  a  passing  indisposition." 

"  And  so  must  all,"  remarked  Mr.  Andrews, 
"  since  his  Majesty  hath  no  son  to  succeed  him." 

"  Then  you  are  not  one  of  those  who  believe  in 
the  black  box?" 

u  What,  in  the  Duke  of  Monmouth's  claim  ? 
Not  I,  sir ! "  answered  Mr.  Andrews,  laughing. 
"I  would  as  soon  believe  in  mine  own."  And 
then,  more  seriously,  "  I  trust  no  one  will  be  so 
ill-advised  and  cruel  as  to  set  on  that  young  man 
to  put  forward  a  claim  which  can  never  be  sub- 
stantiated." 

"  You  would  perhaps  rather  have  Oliver  back  !  " 
said  Ursula  maliciously.  "  We  all  know  what  your 
father's  politics  are,  Mr.  Andrews.  He  was  one 
of  Oliver's  Ironsides,  was  he  not  ?  " 

"You  may  easily  know  what  are  my  father's 


30 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


politics,  Mrs.  Ursula,"  said  the  good  man,  his 
honest  face  flushing  at  her  tone,  which  was  suf- 
ficiently contemptuous  :  "  no  secret  wTas  ever  made 
of  them  that  I  know  of.  My  father  was  not  in 
the  Ironsides,  however.  He  commanded  a  ship 
under  the  Parliament,  and  helped  to  humble  the 
pride  of  the  Dutch,  who  did  not  come  up  the  river 
to  Chatham  in  those  days." 

"  Well  said,  man,  and  I  like  you  all  the  better 
for  standing  up  for  your  father,"  said  Capt. 
Morley  (he  really  is  a  captain  it  seems),  striking 
him  on  the  shoulder.  "  Your  father  was  not  the 
only  old  Puritan  who  has  done  the  king  good  ser- 
vice, and  I  dare  say  you  would  do  the  same." 

"  I  am  beholden  to  you  for  your  good  opinion, 
sir,"  answered  Mr.  Andrews,  with  much  dignity ; 
and  then  he  turned  away,  and  began  talking  with 
Mrs.  Robertson.  Ursula  sulked  a  little ;  but 
seeming  by  and  by  to  think  she  had  gone  far 
enough,  she  began  to  exert  all  her  arts  of  pleasing, 
which  are  neither  few  nor  small,  and  soon  had  her 
lover  at  her  feet  again.  Poor  man,  I  think  he  is 
far  too  good  for  her  ! 

We  walked  home  together,  and  Ursula  must 
needs  come  in  and  tell  my  lady  all  about  every 
thing,  and  how  much  attention  I  had  received ; 
whereby  she  earned  me  a  fine  rating  for  forward- 
ness and  vanity,  which,  no  doubt,  was  what  she 
intended. 


Mrs.  Studley^s  Diary. 


31 


January  20. 

'Tis  a  long  time  since  I  wrote  in  my  book.  My 
lady  hatli  been  ill  —  seriously,  but  not  danger- 
ously—  with  rheumatism,  and  Mrs.  Williams  and 
I  have  had  our  hands  full.  The  doctor  tells  her 
she  must  go  to  the  Bath  as  soon  as  the  weather  is 
warm  enough,  and  she  says  she  will;  but  I  don't 
believe  it.  She  will  never  make  up  her  mind  to 
spend  so  much  money.  Of  course  I  have  been 
pretty  closely  shut  up ;  but  I  have  been  out  a  few 
times  to  do  errands,  and  now  and  then  in  the  early 
morning  to  walk  a  little.  Once  I  ventured  as  far 
as  the  park,  which,  indeed,  is  not  very  far,  and 
saw  his  Majesty  taking  his  morning  walk  with 
only  one  or  two  attendants,  and  flinging  bits  of 
bread  to  his  tame  ducks  and  swans.  Capt. 
Morley  was  in  attendance,  and  put  off  his  hat  to 
me.  The  king  looked  at  me  curiously,  and  I  sup- 
pose asked  who  I  was.  He  turned  presently,  and, 
as  I  courtesied,  he  said  kindly,  "  Good-morrow, 
sweetheart !  You  are  sunning  your  roses  early." 
"  When  you  do  not  know  what  to  say,  say  nothing," 
was  my  mother's  maxim :  so  I  only  courtesied 
again,  and  hastened  home,  feeling  rather  scared, 
and  yet  pleased,  that  I  had  had  a  word  from  his 
Majesty.  He  hath  a  pleasant  way  with  him,  and 
his  face,  when  lighted  by  a  smile,  is  very  winning. 
'Tis  a  pity  he  were  not  a  different  man  in  some 
ways. 

I  have  seen  Capt.  Morley  two  or  three  times. 
He  is  always  very  polite.    Once  he  gave  me  an 


32 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


orange,  but  I  dared  not  eat  it  lest  the  smell  thereof 
should  betray  me  to  my  lady :  so  I  gave  it  to  Mary 
Mathews  for  her  sick  father.  I  kept  a  bit  of  the 
skin,  however,  and  it  is  in  my  cabinet  now. 

February  1. 

'Tis  said  the  king  is  very  ill,  and  not  like  to  be 
better.  He  had  a  kind  of  fit  this  morning,  and  at 
noon  had  not  yet  recovered  consciousness.  Capt. 
Morley  looked  in  to  tell  us  the  sad  news. 

February  2. 

His  Majesty  is  no  better.  All  the  principal 
physicians  and  surgeons  in  town  are  by  his  bed- 
side. The  archbishop  and  two  or  three  other 
bishops  are  in  attendance,  and  one  or  other  has  sat 
up  with  him  every  night.  One  sees  nothing  but 
tears  and  sad  faces,  and  people  throng  to  the 
churches  in  crowds  to  pray  for  the  king's  life. 
Ursula  was  here,  and  told  us  of  these  things. 
She  has  reasons  more  than  one  to  pray  for  his 
recovery,  for  of  course  his  death  must  put  off  her 
marriage  which  was  fixed  for  next  week. 

February  5. 

It  was  said  this  morning  that  the  king  Avas  bet- 
ter, and  the  church-bells  rang  merrily.  Being 
sent  out  to  match  some  silk  for  Mrs,  Williams's 
work,  and  having  a  little  time  on  my  hands,  I 
stepped  into  a  church,  the  doors  of  which  were 
open,  and  knelt  down  to  offer  a  prayer  myself; 
but  the  sound  of  the  minister's  voice,  the  sight  of 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


S3 


the  chancel,  and  the  very  air  and  scent  of  the 
place  did  so  awaken  old  memories  that  I  could  do 
naught  but  cry.  When  I  rose  from  my  knees,  I 
saw  next  me  a  lady  with  whom  I  have  some 
acquaintance,  Lady  Clarenham.  She  had  a  young- 
relation  at  Mrs.  Price's  school,  and  used  to  come 
sometimes  to  visit  her;  and  the  little  maid  being 
in  some  sort  under  my  care  —  for  she  was  very 
young  —  the  lady  was  pleased  to  thank  me  for 
my  attention,  and  give  me  a  gold  piece  for  a 
token. 

Lady  Clarenham  knew  me  directly,  and  greeted 
me  very  kindly.  She  is  a  pretty,  rather  elderly 
lady ;  and  I  like  her  all  the  better  that  she  does 
not  try  to  look  young,  as  almost  everybody  does 
nowadays.    I  asked  after  little  Mrs.  Patty. 

"  Oh,  she  is  well,  and  grown  almost  a  woman  !  " 
answered  my  lady.  uShe  often  talks  of  j7ou." 
And  then  she  asked  me  of  my  welfare,  and  how 
I  was  living,  and  I  told  her.  We  were  in  the 
porch  by  this  time ;  a  young  gentleman  standing 
by,  whom  I  took  to  belong  to  her  famil}r,  as  he 
seemed  to  be  waiting  for  her . 

"I  used  to  know  the  Lady  Jemima  Corbet," 
said  Lady  Clarenham.  "I  think  I  must  give  this 
lady  a  visit,  and  ask  her  to  spare  you  to  me  for  a 
day  or  two,  at  least  if  you  would  like  to  come." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  madam,"  I  answered ;  and  then, 
startled  to  see  how  late  it  was,  I  hastened  home. 
My  lady  was  asleep  when  I  came  in,  and  Mrs. 
Williams  asked  me  what  had  kept  me  so  long.  I 


34 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


told  her  frankly  that  I  had  stepped  into  a  church 
to  say  a  prayer  for  the  king,  and  there  I  had  met 
with  an  old  acquaintance,  who  had  kept  me  talk- 
ing a  few  minutes. 

"  And  who  was  that,  pray,  Mistress  Gadabout  ?  " 
asked  my  lady,  opening  her  eyes  suddenly. 

I  told  her  that  it  was  my  Lady  Clarenham. 

"And  pray  what  had  my  Lady  Clarenham  to 
say  to  you,  and  how  came  you  to  know  her?" 

I  told  her. 

"  Then  you  may  tell  my  Lady  Clarenham,  next 
time  you  see  her,  that  I  want  none  of  her  visits. 
A  fine  tale,  indeed,  when  errand-girls  and  cham- 
ber-maids receive  visits  from  titled  ladies  !  —  Wil- 
liams, why  did  you  send  her  out  at  all  ?  " 

"  I  needed  sewing-silk  to  finish  your  gown,  my 
lady,"  answered  Mrs.  Williams. 

"  And  why  need  you  use  silk  at  all,- — or  if  you 
must  needs  have  it,  why  could  you  not  save  what 
you  ripped  out?  "  demanded  my  lady.  "I  shall  be 
ruined,  ruined  out  of  house  and  home,  by  all  this 
waste  and  extravagance,  and  paying  for  doctors 
and  medicine.    I  shall  die  in  an  almshouse." 

"  And  what  harm  will  that  do  3^ou,  madam  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Williams  tranquilly.  My  lady  stared 
at  her. 

"  What  harm,  quotha  !  What  harm  !  "  she  re- 
peated, almost  gasping  for  breath. 

"  Yes,  what  harm  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Williams.  "  When 
one  has  been  dead  two  minutes,  what  difference 
will  it  make  whether  one  has  died  in  an  almshouse 


Mrs.  Studley^s  Diary. 


35 


or  in  Whitehall,  since  both  must  be  left  behind 
forever  ?  " 

"Pshaw!  don't  talk  any  of  your  Muggletonian 
and  Independent  rant  to  me!"  said  my  lady. 
(Mrs.  Williams  is  some  kind  of  Independent,  —  I 
don't  know  what  exactly,  —  and  when  my  lady 
wants  to  take  it  out  on  her  she  calls  her  a  Mug- 
gletonian.) "  I  am  a  practical  woman,  and  take  a 
practical  view  of  things.  —  Dolly,  what  news  did 
you  hear?  for  of  course  your  ears  were  open: 
trust  a  waiting-woman  for  that !  " 

I  told  her  that  every  one  said  the  king  was 
better,  and  almost  out  of  danger. 

"I  have  never  believed  he  was  going  to  die," 
said  she,  —  "a  strong  man,  and  not  older  that  I 
am.  It  was  not  likely  he  would  give  up  to  the 
first  illness." 

But  people  die  at  all  ages.  To-night  Mr.  Mor- 
ley  came  in  to  tell  us  that  the  king  was  given  over 
by  his  physicians,  and  was  not  likely  to  live  the 
night  out. 

"  And  what  then  ?  "  asked  my  lady. 

"  Why,  then,  God  save  King  James,  I  suppose," 
answered  Mr.  Morley,  lightly  enough;  and  then, 
more  seriously,  "  There  will  be  many  sad  hearts 
in  this  nation  by  this  time  to-morrow." 

"  May  God  give  him  space  for  repentance ! "  said 
Mrs.  Williams,  so  solemnly  that  we  were  all  silent 
for  a  minute ;  and  then  she  asked,  "  Do  you  know 
the  state  of  his  mind,  sir?  " 

"  No,  madam,"  answered  Mr.  Morley.    "  I  know 


36  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


that  the  archbishop  and  bishop  have  told  him  that 
he  could  not  live,  and  wished  to  administer  the 
communion  ;  but  he  will  not  have  it." 

"And  what  reason  does  he  give?" 

"  Sometimes  he  says  there  is  time  enough,  and 
sometimes  that  he  is  too  weak.  There  are  those 
that  have  their  own  thoughts  about  the  matter,  as 
I  have  myself;  and  not  the  less  that  Tom  Chiffinch 
brought  honest  old  Father  Huddleston  up  the 
back  stairs  to-day.  Marry,  he  hath  purveyed 
other  company  up  those  stairs  in  his  time ! " 

"Are  you  sure?"  asked  Mrs.  Williams  gravely. 
"  'Tis  a  serious  thing  to  say,  Mr.  Morley." 

"  Oh,  other  folks  have  eyes  in  their  heads  be- 
side me!"  answered  Mr.  Morley.  "The  old  man 
was  disguised,  but  half  a  dozen  people  saw  him." 

"  Then  you  would  imply  that  his  Majesty  is  a 
Papist  ?  "  said  my  lady. 

"  I,  madam  !  I  imply  nothing.  I  am  but  a  poor 
gentleman  of  the  back  stairs,  and  it  would  not  be- 
come me  to  imply  things  of  his  Majesty." 

"  So  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Williams  dryly. 

"  I  suppose  Mr.  Morley  thinks  he  shall  lose  his 
place  anyhow,  so  he  can  say  what  he  likes,"  ob- 
served my  lady,  improving  the  occasion  to  say 
something  disagreeable,  as  usual. 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  his  royal  Highness  is  my  very 
good  master,"  answered  Mr.  Morley.  "I  hope  I 
shall  get  a  troop,  and  be  in  active  service  again, 
which  is  a  better  life  for  a  man  than  hanging  round 
a  court.  —  Think  you  not  so,  Mrs.  Dolly?" 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  37 


"  I  think  I  should  like  it  better,  but  it  would 
depend  a  good  deal  on  the  nature  of  the  service," 
I  answered.  "  I  don't  think  I  should  like  the  ser- 
vice which  the  troops  in  Scotland  seem  to  be  em- 
ployed about,  hunting  down  the  poor  wretches  of 
Covenanters." 

"  A  soldier  has  no  choice  but  to  obey  orders,  you 
know,"  answered  Mr.  Morley ;  "  and  I  can  tell  you, 
Mrs.  Dolly,  these  same  Covenanters  are  not  such 
harmless  sheep  as  you  seem  to  suppose." 

"  But  old  men  and  old  women  and  young  lads, 
Mr.  Morley  "  — 

"  War  is  a  rough  trade,  Mrs.  Dolly.  But  per- 
haps I  may  have  the  luck  to  get  a  command  in 
one  of  the  regiments  under  the  Prince  of  Orange," 
said  he ;  and  then,  lowering  his  voice  as  he  saw  my 
lady  busy  with  a  knot  in  her  netting :  "  I  would 
not  willingly  fall  in  your  good  opinion,  fair  lady." 

Certainly  he  has  a  pleasant  way  with  him.  Even 
my  lady  feels  it,  and  is  more  civil  to  him  than  to 
any  one.  But  I  don't  think  Mrs.  Williams  likes 
him.    I  don't  see  why  not,  I  am  sure. 

February  6. 

The  king  died  to-day  at  noon,  without  a  strug- 
gle, they  say.  Nothing  is  seen  in  the  streets  but 
tears  and  sad  faces.  His  easy,  familiar  ways  and 
kind  manners  made  him  beloved  even  by  those 
who  could  not  approve  his  conduct;  and,  besides, 
people  are  afraid  of  what  is  to  come.  It  is  said  the 
king  once  said  to  his  brother,  "I  am  safe  from 


38 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or^ 


assassination  while  you  live,  James,  for  no  one 
would  kill  me  to  make  you  king."  His  present 
Majesty  being  an  avowed  papist  puts  people  upon 
grave  thoughts  of  what  is  like  to  come.  But  I 
trust  all  will  be  well. 

February  7. 

A  general  mourning  is  ordered,  as  if  for  a  father, 
and  my  lady  is  in  a  great  strait  what  to  do  about 
it.  Ursula  Robertson  came  in  with  her  father,  to 
bring  us  the  news,  and  was  presently  followed  by 
her  servant,  Mr.  Andrews,  and  Mr.  Morley. 

"  Of  course  you  will  put  on  mourning  directly, 
sister, "  says  Mr.  Robertson,  who  seemed  really  to 
have  got  his  wits  together  for  once.  Generally  he 
is  like  an  owl  in  daylight,  when  he  is  out  of  his 
counting-house. 

"  Yes,"  added  Ursula :  "you  live  so  near  White- 
hall, the  omission  will  be  sure  to  be  noticed.  I 
think  we  Presbyterians  ought  to  be  specially  care- 
ful about  it :  we  are  like  to  have  hard  times  enough 
anyhow." 

"  Nay,  I  trust  not,"  said  Mr.  Andrews.  " '  Tis 
said  by  some  that  the  king  is  in  favor  of  universal 
toleration  of  all  religions." 

Mr.  Morley  laughed.  "  6  Lay  not  that  flattering 
unction  to  your  soul,'  "  said  he.  "The  king  is  the 
king,  but  —    I  have  seen  him  in  Scotland." 

"  Do  let  us  have  a  chance  to  talk  a  little  about 
matters  of  importance,"  said  my  lady  peevishly. 
"  It  seems  to  me  that  young  folks  take  all  the  talk 
to  themselves  nowadays. — About  this  business  of 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


39 


mourning,  brother  Robertson.  Do  you  think  it 
will  be  needful  to  buy  new  goods?  You  know  I 
left  off  my  weeds  only  two  years  ago,  and  Dolly 
must  have  the  black  she  wore  for  her  mother. 
Will  not  that  do  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  not,  I  should  say  not,"  answered 
Mr.  Robertson.  "  I  should  say  that  with  a  person 
of  your  known  wealth,  sister  Corbet,  it  would 
certainly  draw  down  unpleasant  remarks." 

"  I  cannot  wear  my  black  gowns  at  all,"  said  I, 
rather  maliciously  I  am  afraid.  "  They  are  both 
outworn  and  outgrown.  And  you  know,  my  lady, 
you  sold  most  part  of  your  weeds  to  poor  Mrs. 
Anscomb,  when  she  lost  her  husband." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Mistress  Malapert !  Who 
asked  your  opinion  ?  "  said  my  lady,  giving  me  a 
vengeful  glance.  And  indeed  it  was  spiteful  in 
me,  but  I  so  seldom  have  a  chance  to  get  amends 
of  her. 

u  Oh,  yes,  I  should  say  it  w^as  needful  for  you  to 
provide  black  for  yourself  and  all  your  house- 
hold ! "  said  Mr.  Robertson.  "  I  will  send  you 
some  pieces  of  serge  and  bombazine  to  choose 
from." 

My  lady  sighed  and  groaned  over  the  expense, 
but  finally  gave  in.  I  suppose  we  shall  all  be 
pinched  in  our  diet  to  pay  for  the  same.  Happily 
Mrs.  Williams  hath  charge  of  the  keys  at  present. 

By  and  by  Mr.  Morley  made  her  a  present  of 
some  cakes  of  chocolate,  which  put  her  into  a  some- 
what better  humor.    As  he  was  going  away,  he 


40  Through  Unknown  Ways;  oi\ 


put  a  little  parcel  into  my  hand,  slyly  whispering 
at  the  same  time,  "  Sweets  to  the  sweet,  fair  lady.'' 
When  I  had  a  chance  to  open  it,  I  found  a  pretty 
gilded  glass  full  of  colored  and  perfumed  comfits, 
and  a  little  book  of  poetry  by  Mr.  Dryden.  I  hope 
Ursula  did  not  see  him  give  it  to  me,  and  yet  I 
fear  she  did. 

Am  I  growing  sly  ?  I  fear  so.  It  is  the  natu- 
ral consequence  of  living  with  a  person  one  is  in 
dread  of.  When  I  lived  with  Mrs.  Price  and  dear 
mother,  I  had  the  name  of  being  frank  and  open 
as  the  day,  and  I  think  I  deserved  it.  But  what 
can  I  do,  placed  as  I  am  ? 

February  15. 

The  king  was  buried  last  night,  without  any 
pomp  at  all,  very  obscurely  even  for  a  private 
gentleman,  in  the  vault  under  Henry  Seventh's 
chapel  at  Westminster.  Many  remarks  made 
about  the  matter.  But  it  will  make  little  differ- 
ence to  him,  poor  gentleman ! 

February  18. 

The  Robertsons  are  in  great  trouble.  Mr.  An- 
drews is  taken  with  a  fever,  and  not  likely  to 
recover.  I  went  to  see  Ursula  to-day,  and  found 
her  crying  in  her  chamber,  with  all  her  fine  wed- 
ding-clothes spread  out  upon  the  bed.  I  felt  very 
sorry  for  her. 

"  Only  think,  Dolly,  I  was  to  have  been  wedded 
this  very  day  ! "  said  she,  sobbing. 

"  Perhaps  Mr.  Andrews  may  get  better,"  I  said. 

"  No,  the  doctor  says  there  is  no  hope  at  all." 


Mrs.  Studley^s  Diary. 


41 


"Have  you  seen  him?"  I  ventured  to  ask. 
She  stared  at  me  in  such  amazement  that  she 
actually  forgot  to  cry. 

"  Why  no,  of  course  not !  "  said  she.  "  I  might 
take  the  fever  and  die,  or  be  disfigured  for  life ; 
and  besides,"  she  added,  crying  again,  "  I  could 
not  endure  to  witness  his  pain.  I  am  like  his  late 
blessed  Majesty  in  that:  I  can't  endure  to  see  peo- 
ple suffer." 

"  And  like  him  in  another  thing,  that  you  don't 
care  how  they  suffer,  so  you  don't  see  them," 
I  thought.  But  she  went  on  bemoaning  herself, 
and  mixing  up  her  grief  for  poor,  dear  Mr.  An- 
drews, with  lamentations  for  her  finery  which 
would  all  be  wasted,  all  be  old-fashioned  before 
she  could  wear  it,  till  I  grew  weary,  and  said 
rather  unfeelingly  I  am  afraid,  — 

"  Oh,  perhaps  not !  Maybe  you  will  get  a  new 
admirer  before  that  time." 

"  You  mean  Mr.  Morley?"  said  she,  looking  at 
me  curiously,  but  not  with  the  resentment  most 
girls  would  have  shown. 

"  No,  I  did  not  mean  any  one  in  particular,"  I 
answered,  feeling  my  face  flush,  I  don't  know  why. 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  am  a  great  enough  fortune  for 
Mr.  Morley,"  said  she,  "  though  I  shall  have  four 
or  five  thousand  pounds  to  my  portion,  too.  He 
saj^s  he  must  needs  marry  rich :  so  you  see  you 
have  no  chance,  Dolly,  unless  your  mistress  dies 
and  leaves  you  some  money." 

"And  that  will  be  when  the  sky  falls,"  said  I; 


42  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

thinking  to  myself,  "  Certainly  she  will  do  no  such 
thing  if  you  can  help  it." 

"  Just  then  good  Mrs.  Pendergast  came  in,  to 
say  that  Mr.  Andrews  was  much  worse,  that  he 
could  not  last  the  day  out,  and  most  earnestly 
desired  to  bid  farewell  to  his  mistress.  Whereupon 
Ursula  began  to  scream  and  cry,  and  presently 
went  into  a  fit,  so  we  had  all  we  could  do  to 
hold  her.  When  she  was  a  little  better,  I  took 
my  leave,  as  much  disgusted  as  ever  I  was  in  my 
life.  The  heartless  creature  !  I  should  think  she 
would  have  counted  every  minute  lost  that  she  did 
not  spend  at  his  bedside.  If  it  were  Mr.  Morley 
—    But  what  am  I  saying? 

February  21. 
Poor  Mr.  Andrews  is  dead  and  buried. 

March  4. 

Being  Ash  Wednesday,  my  lady  had  a  better 
dinner  than  ordinary. 

March  6. 

My  Lady  Clarenham,  who  I  thought  had  forgot- 
ten all  about  me,  did  really  give  a  visit  to  my  lady. 
She  earner  in  her  coach,  with  her  servants  in  livery, 
and  entered  the  room  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the 
same  young  gentleman  I  saw  with  her  in  church, 
and  whom  she  presented  to  my  lady  as  Mr.  Stud- 
ley. 

"  Mr.  Studley  is  a  far  away  kinsman  of  mine  own, 
who  is  so  kind  as  to  undertake  the  government  of 
my  family  for  me,"  said  she. 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary.  43 


"  He  is  but  young  for  such  an  office,"  said  my 
mistress,  not  unkindly.  She  is  always  more  civil 
to  men  than  to  women. 

Lady  Clarenham  chatted  awhile  in  an  easy, 
pleasant,  and  yet  somewhat  serious  manner.  Mr. 
Studley  was  mostly  silent,  except  when  his  lady 
appealed  to  him.  He  is  not  to  say  handsome,  and 
yet  there  is  something  pleasing  in  his  bright  gray 
eyes,  and  firm,  well-cut  mouth.  But  he  is  rather 
small  and  slight,  and  did  look  like  a  lad  by  the 
side  of  Mr.  Morley,  who  sauntered  in,  as  he  does 
pretty  often  nowadays.  Yet  he  showed  that  he 
could  hold  his  own,  too.  My  Lady  Clarenham 
was  speaking  of  some  new  book  which  she  had 
not  read,  but  had  heard  much  commended,  and 
a?ked  Mr.  Morley  if  he  had  read  it. 

"Not  I,  madam,"  he  answered,  laughing.  "Such 
reading  is  not  in  my  way.  I  would  as  soon  think 
of  reading  the  Epistle  to  the  Ephesians." 

"  You  might  perhaps  find  something  of  interest 
in  the  Epistle  to  the  Ephesians,  if  you  understood 
it,"  observed  Mr.  Studley,  whereupon  Mr.  Morley 
turned  upon  him  in  what  I  must  say  was  a  some- 
what overbearing  manner. 

UI  would  have  you  know,  sir,  that  I  am  able  to 
read  the  Epistle  to  the  Ephesians  in  the  original 
Greek!" 

"  I  do  not  dispute  it,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Studley, 
smiling.  "  I  might  read  Mr.  Boyle's  late  treatise 
on  the  higher  mathematics  in  the  original  English, 
but  I  should  hardly  be  much  the  wiser  without 
some  previous  preparation." 


44  Through  Unknoivn  Ways;  or, 


Mr.  Morley  frowned  for  a  moment,  and  then 
laughed  good-naturedly. 

"  Well  said,  man ;  you  have  given  me  back 
mine  own  fairly  enough.  I  see  you  have  plenty 
of  fire,  for  all  you  look  so  demure.  But  tell  me, 
what  think  yon  of  this  last  news  from  the  Con- 
tinent? King  Louis  carries  matters  with  a  high 
hand,  does  he  not  ?  " 

And  so  the  two  fell  into  friendly  conversation. 
I  do  like  any  one  who  can  take  a  retort  pleasantly. 

My  Lady  Clarenham  talked  awhile  on  various 
matters ;  and  then,  turning  to  me,  she  asked  me 
about  my  family.  I  told  her  that  I  knew  not 
much  about  it ;  that  my  mother's  marriage  had 
displeased  her  own  family ;  and  though  I  knew 
she  had  a  married  sister  living  somewhere  near 
Exeter,  I  had  no  acquaintance  with  her. 

"Methinks  I  should  know  her!  I  know  most 
of  our  west-country  gentry,  by  name,  at  least," 
said  Lady  Clarenham.  "What  is  your  uncles 
name  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  madam,"  I  answered. 

"  I  suspect  it  is  Sir  Robert  Fullham,"  said  Mr. 
Studley.  "  I  know  him  by  sight.  He  is  a  gentle- 
man reputed  wealthy,  and  much  respected.  He 
hath  daughters,  but  I  think  no  son." 

"  And  do  you  know  my  cousins,  sir  ?  "  I  ventured 
to  ask. 

"  Only  by  sight,"  he  answered.  "  They  are  fine 
young  ladies,  and,  as  I  understand,  much  sought 
after  in  the  gay  society  of  Exeter.    I  have  lived 


Mrs.  Studley  s  Diary. 


45 


so  much  abroad  that  I  hardly  know  our  own  neigh- 
borhood." 

"  You  have  served  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Morley. 

"Not  so,  sir ;  but  my  father,  wishing  to  have  me 
learn  the  French  and  Italian  tongues  perfectly, 
sent  me  abroad  at  an  early  age.  I  sojourned  in 
the  family  of  a  French  Protestant  minister,  and 
found  the  life  so  much  to  my  taste  that  I  staid, 
perhaps,  longer  than  I  ought." 

"  This  same  Protestant  minister  had  daughters, 
I  warrant,"  said  my  mistress. 

Mr.  Studley  smiled.  I  don't  think  I  ever  saw 
any  eyes  flash  like  his. 

"  One  daughter,  about  forty  years  old,  and 
scarred  with  small-pox,"  said  he. 

"  What,  then,  was  the  attraction  ? "  asked  Mr. 
Morley. 

"  Even  that  which  makes  birds  of  a  feather  flock 
together,"  answered  Mr.  Studley.  "  You  know 
Cicero  says  it  is  a  great  bond  of  union  to  think 
the  same  things  concerning  the  republic,  and  the 
rule  holds  regarding  even  more  important  mat- 
ters." 

"  You  are,  then,  a  Presbyterian,  like  myself?" 
said  my  mistress. 

"No,  madam,  I  am  an  unworthy  member  of  the 
Church  of  England ;  and  yet  I  could  find  a  sym- 
pathizing friend  in  this  Huguenot  pastor.  I  learned 
more  of  him  than  in  all  my  life  before." 

"Your  Protestant  friends  in  France  are  like  to 
fare  badly,  since  the  revocation  of  the  Edict  of 


46 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


Nantes,''  said  Mr.  Morley.  "  That  was  something 
of  a  safeguard  to  them." 

"  More  in  name  than  in  fact,"  said  Mr.  Studley. 
"  It  seems  as  though  they  could  hardly  be  worse 
off,  and  yet  I  suppose  they  may  be." 

"  Mr.  Evelyn  was  telling  me  a  sad  story  of  the 
cruelties  practised  toward  the  French  Protest- 
ants," observed  Lady  Clarenham.  "  He  says  he 
had  it  from  a  sure  hand.  It  is  strange  that  nothing 
about  it  hath  appeared  in  the  4  Gazette.'  " 

"  Not  so  very  strange,  when  you  consider  who 
hath  the  ordering  of  these  matters,"  said  Mr.  Mor- 
ley. "  Has  yoMv  ladyship  heard  who  is  to  be  the 
new  chief  justice?  Even  no  other  than  Mr.  Jef- 
freys." 

u  Impossible  !  that  wretch  !  "  said  my  lady,  with 
some  heat. 

"  'lis  said- so  by  the  best  authorities." 

"  Heaven  help  us  !  Where  are  we  drifting  to?" 
said  my  Lady  Clarenham  ;  and  then,  catching  (or 
so  I  fancied)  a  warning  glance  from  Mr.  Studley, 
she  changed  the  conversation  by  asking  my  mis- 
tress to  allow  me  to  come  and  give  her  a  visit. 
Lady  Corbet  was  so  far  wrought  upon  by  her 
visitor's  kindness,  that  she  promised  to  consider 
the  matter.    But  I  don't  build  at  all  upon  it. 

March  10. 

'Tis  really  true  that  Mr.  Jeffreys  is  made  chief 
justice.  Mr.  Baxter  brought  us  the  news.  He 
augurs  ill  from  the  appointment  of  such  a  man, 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


47 


and  no  wonder.  Mr.  Morley  says  the  aspect  of 
the  court  is  greatly  changed :  all  is  decent  and 
sober,  at  least  outwardly ;  and  the  old  throng  of 
gamesters,  singers,  buffoons,  and  the,  like,  find  no 
entertainment  any  more  at  Whitehall.  Mr.  Mor- 
ley still  keeps  his  place ;  but  he  has  asked,  and  had 
the  promise  of,  a  troop  of  horse.  He  says  his 
Majesty  commended  his  desire  of  active  service, 
and  will  place  him  under  his  old  commander, 
Col.  Kirke.  I  don't  know  whether  to  be  glad 
or  sorry.  I  am  pleased  with  his  good  fortune,  of 
course ;  but  I  shall  miss  him  if  he  goes,  and  I 
have  so  few  pleasures.  I  said  something  about 
his  going  away  to  Mrs.  Williams. 

"  I  am  glad  on't  with  all  my  heart,"  said  she. 

"  You  do  not  like  him,  and  yet  he  is  very  good- 
natured  and  pleasing." 

"  Too  pleasing,"  she  answered.  "  The  truth  is 
not  in  him.  See  you  not,  my  child,  how  careless 
he  is  in  his  statements,  how  he  exaggerates?  He 
can  scarce  repeat  a  story  from  a  book  as  it  is, 
without  making  some  addition  of  his  own.  I 
would  he  had  staid  among  the  Moors,  before  he 
ever  came  here,  with  his  fine  speeches,  to  turn  silly 
heads." 

"  He  has  not  turned  mine,  if  that  is  what  you 
mean,"  said  I,  feeling  my  cheeks  burn. 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  she  ;  "  I  would 
I  were.  My  dear  Dolly,  let  me  beg  you  to  be 
careful  in  this  matter.  Mr.  Morley  is  not  the  man 
to  make  you  happy,  even  if  he  thought  seriously 


48 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


of  marrying  you,  which  I  greatly  doubt,  for  I  think 
him  altogether  mercenary  ;  and  he  may  compromise 
you  seriously  before  you  are  aware.  Be  not  angry, 
now,  but  tell  me,  have  you  not  met  him  more  than 
once  in  your  morning  walks  ?  " 

"  It  was  only  an  accident,  if  I  did,"  I  answered. 
"You  don't  think  I  would  go  out  purposely  to 
meet  a  man  in  secret,  Mrs.  Williams?  What  do 
you  take  me  for  ?  " 

"  For  an  innocent  child,  who  knows  naught  of 
the  ways  of  the  world,  and  should  therefore  be 
content  to  be  guided,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams. "  I  think  no  ill  of  you,  Dolly,  but  I  must 
needs  warn  you.  A  young  maid's  fair  fame  is  like 
the  ermine,  which,  they  say,  dies  of  a  stain  on  its 
white  fur.  Suppose  my  lady  should  learn  from 
some  one  that  you  had  met  Mr.  Morley  in  the 
park?" 

"  Suppose  you  go  and  tell  her,"  said  I,  too  angry 
to  keep  any  measure  in  my  words.  "Then  she 
might  turn  me  out,  and  you  could  have  her  old 
gowns  all  to  yourself."  And  with  that  I  ran  away 
to  my  own  room  to  have  a  good  cry.  I  am 
ashamed  of  myself  already  for  answering  so  my 
good  old  friend, — the  only  friend  I  have  in  the 
world  almost,  and  who  hath  never  showed  me 
aught  but  kindness.  I  believe  she  is  right,  too, 
so  far  as  these  meetings  are  concerned ;  and  I  am 
resolved  there  shall  be  no  more  of  them,  though 
it  breaks  my  heart. 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary.  49 


March  12. 

I  have  made  it  up  with  Mrs.  Williams,  and  asked 
her  pardon,  and  have  promised  her  to  give  Mr. 
Morley  no  more  meetings.  I  must  say  she  was 
very  kind  and  motherly.  She  told  me  what  I  did 
never  know  before,  that  she  had  once  had  a  daugh- 
ter, who  died  about  my  age,  and  says  she,  "  I  verily 
believe  of  a  broken  heart,  though  the  doctors  called 
it  a  consumption."  And  then  she  told  me  how  the 
poor  thing  had  been  led  by  a  fine  gentleman  to 
think  he  meant  to  marry  her,  though  he  had  noth- 
ing in  his  mind  but  the  amusement  of  an  idle  hour. 

"  God  mercifully  preserved  her  from  sin  and 
shame,  and  then  more  mercifully  still,  as  I  now 
think,  took  her  home  to  himself,"  said  she,  weep- 
ing ;  and  I  wept  with  her. 

March  24. 

The  king  and  queen  crowned  yesterday.  Much 
murmuring  at  the  omission  of  the  procession ;  the 
king,  it  seems,  choosing  rather  to  spend  the  money 
on  jewels  for  his  wife.  The  coronation  rites  very 
much  shortened,  there  being  no  communion.  I 
wonder  how  he,  being  a  Papist,  would  consent  to 
be  crowned  by  a  heretic  archbishop,  whose  orders 
he  must  regard  as  altogether  void  and  schismati- 
cal ;  and  to  join  in  worship,  which,  according  to 
his  notions,  must  be  stark  blasphemy. 

The  Papists  are  everywhere  raising  their  heads. 
Mass  is  publicly  said  at  Whitehall  and  other  places. 
On  Easter  Day  there  was  a  grand  celebration,  at 
which  many  great  lords  attended ;  but  the  Lords 


50 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


Ormond  and  Halifax  remained  in  the  ante-cham- 
ber. 

We  had  all  this  great  news  and  much  more  from 
Mr.  Morley,  who  gave  us  a  visit  with  Ursula 
Robertson  and  her  father.  He  has  not  been  here 
before  in  some  days ;  but  from  things  that  came 
out  it  seems  he  hath  been  visiting  Ursula  more 
than  once,  and  even  contrived  that  she  should 
have  a  peep  at  the  king  and  queen  yesterday. 

"But  you  could  not  go  in  your  mourning,"  said 
I ;  for  she  wears  the  deepest  sables,  like  a  young 
widow. 

"  I  left  them  off  for  the  nonce,"  said  she.  "  There 
was  no  harm  in  that." 

"  No  harm,  perhaps,  but  I  should  not  have  done 
it,"  I  answered. 

"  Of  course  you  wouldn't,"  she  answered  mock- 
ingly. "  We  all  know  you  are  the  pattern  of  pro- 
priety and  prudence  and  all  the  rest.  Wait  till 
you  are  tried,  that  is  all." 

"  I  am  not  like  to  be  tried  in  any  such  way,"  I 
answered.  At  that  moment  my  lady  called  Ursula 
to  her  side  to  take  out  a  knot  in  her  netting,  and 
Mr.  Morley  whispered  in  my  ear,  — 

"  If  I  am  killed  in  the  wars,  Mrs.  Dolly,  won't 
you  wear  mourning  for  me  ?  " 

uWe  shall  see  when  the  time  comes,"  I  an- 
swered lightly,  though  my  heart  was  beating  so  it 
almost  choked  me.  "  You  have  not  gone  to  the 
wars  yet." 

"But  I  am  like  to  go  at  any  time,  if  this  mad 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


51 


Duke  of  Monmouth  gives  us  the  trouble  that  peo- 
ple think  is  likely ;  and  it  would  be  a  comfort  to 
me,  lying  on  the  bloody  battle-field  awaiting  death, 
to  think  that  my  Dolly's  bright  eyes  would  weep 
for  me." 

14  You  ought  to  be  thinking  of  better  things,"  I 
rejoined ;  and  then  my  lady  interrupted  me,  by 
asking  some  question  about  the  standing  army 
that  men  say  is  to  be  formed. 

"'Tis  but  a  piece  of  rumor  as  yet,  madam," 
answered  Mr.  Morley.  "  I  do  not  think  any  steps 
have  been  taken  in  regard  to  it.  I  can  only  say, 
I  hope  with  all  my  heart  it  is  true.  The  defence 
of  this  nation  should  not  be  intrusted  to  country 
squires,  and  to  rustics  and  cobblers  who  hardly 
know  their  right  hand  from  their  left." 

"And  what  will  Parliament  say  to  that,  think 
you  ?  A  standing  army  hath  ever  been  a  bugbear, 
you  know." 

"I  believe  the  incoming  Parliament  is  not  like 
to  offer  much  resistance  to  the  king's  will  in  that 
or  any  other  matter,"  answered  Mr.  Morley.  "  I 
may  say  this  much  is  quite  true,  that  an  army  is 
to  be  formed,  and  I  am  going  down  to  Scotland  on 
some  business  concerning  it  to-morrow :  so  I  shall 
not  see  you  again  in  some  time." 

My  heart  sank  at  these  words.  I  have  not  seen 
much  of  Mr.  Morley  lately;  but  then  I  knew  he 
was  in  town,  and  might  dcop  in  at  any  minute. 
And  to  think  of  his  going  away  so  far,  and  to  that 
barbarous  and  rebellious  country.    I  was  ashamed 


52 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


of  my  emotion,  however,  and  made  a  great  effort 
to  restrain  myself,  especially  as  I  saw  Ursula  look- 
ing at  me.  As  we  parted,  Mr.  Morley  took  an 
opportunity  to  whisper  to  me,  — 

"  Will  you  not  be  in  the  park  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, Dolly  ?  It  will  be  the  last  time,  mayhap,  that 
we  shall  ever  meet." 

I  assented  almost  without  thinking,  and  now  I 
almost  wish  I  had  not.  I  promised  Mrs.  Williams 
I  would  never  do  so  again,  and  dear  mother  ever 
taught  me  that  a  promise  was  most  sacred.  I  am 
sure,  too,  mother  would  say  Mrs.  Williams  was 
right.  Oh,  dear,  never  was  poor  girl  so  hard  be- 
stead !  If  only  my  dear  mother  had  lived,  or  Mr. 
Harpe  had  not  cheated  us  so  !  I  can't  help  it.  It 
is  not  my  fault  if  I  can't  be  good.  Nobody  could 
be  open  and  true  with  such  a  mistress  as  I  have. 
And  I  must  see  Mr.  Morley  once  more.  It  will 
only  be  for  once,  and  then  I  will  live  like  a  nun. 

April  3. 

But  I  did  not  see  him,  after  all.  My  lady  must 
needs  have  a  fit  of  cramps  about  four  in  the  morn- 
ing. I  believe  in  my  soul  it  was  but  a  fit  of  indi- 
gestion, caused  by  eating  too  much  lobster  for  her 
supper ;  but  it  was  bad  enough  to  call  up  the  whole 
household,  and  keep  us  all  busy  for  three  or  four 
hours.  She  really  was  very  ill,  and  I  believe  both 
Mrs.  Williams  and  the  doctor  were  very  much 
alarmed.  However,  she  got  better  toward  night, 
but  too  late  to  do  me  any  good.    Ursula  and  her 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


53 


father  came  to  see  her  in  the  evening,  and  Ursula 
sat  with  me  in  the  ante-chamber  while  her  father 
went  in  to  see  his  sister-in-law. 

"Mr.  Morley  is  gone,"  said  she,  after  we  had 
talked  a  little  about  indifferent  matters. 

"  So  I  suppose,"  said  I  coolly.  Whatever  I  felt, 
I  was  not  going  to  betray  myself  to  her. 

"Are  you  not  sorry?"  she  asked  me. 

"  Rather,"  I  said.  "  He  was  a  pleasant  gentle- 
man, and  was  always  coming  in  with  some  bit  of 
news;  and  beside,  my  lady  liked  him,  and  he  kept 
her  in  a  good  humor,  which  was  so  much  clear 
gain  to  me.  Yes,  on  the  whole,  I  am  very  sorry 
he  has  gone." 

"  Would  not  you  be  sorry  if  he  did  not  come 
back  ?  "  she  asked. 

u  Why,  of  course  I  should.  Why  should  I  want 
the  poor  man  to  be  killed?  But,  you  know,  he 
may  stay  away  for  other  reasons,"  I  returned. 
"He  may  find  some  fair  Scottish  lassie  with  a 
good  fortune  to  her  back,  and  marry  her." 

Ursula  shut  her  lips  tight,  and  shook  her  head. 
"I  don't  believe  it,"  said  she.  "Heiresses  are  not 
so  plenty  north  of  the  Tweed ;  and  besides —  But 
it  boots  not  talking.  Dolly,  do  you  know  whether 
my  aunt  has  made  her  will  ?  " 

"I  don't  think  she  has,"  I  answered.  "She 
talks  about  it  sometimes,  and  I  know  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams has  urged  her  to  settle  her  estate ;  but,  when 
it  comes  to  the  point,  she  always  says  there  is  time 
enough." 


54 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


"  She  was  very  ill  this  morning,  was  she  not?" 
"  Yes,  very.    We  thought  she  would  die,  for  a 
while." 

"  And  then  she  must  leave  all  her  money,  that 
she  worships  so,  behind  her,"  said  Ursula  in  a 
musing  tone.  "  Dolly,  it  is  a  hard  thing  to  die, 
isn't  it  ?  " 

"I  don't  know;  I  never  tried  it,"  said  I  flip- 
pantly enough,  for  I  was  in  a  mood  to  say  any 
thing.  I  thought  afterward  that  it  was  a  wicked 
and  presumptuous  thing  to  say.  Of  course,  it 
must  depend  on  what  one's  life  has  been.  Poor 
little  Emma  did  not  find  it  hard  when  the  time 
came,  nor  my  mother.    They  had  no  fear  at  all, 

—  I  suppose  because  they  were  so  religious,  —  and 
I  don't  believe  Mr.  Baxter  fears  death.  But  my 
lady  is  very  religious,  too,  and  yet  she  is  dread- 
fully afraid  of  death.  I  do  believe  she  thought 
herself  in  danger,  for  she  has  been  wonderfully 
kind  to  all  of  us  since  her  illness;  and  the  day 
before  yesterday,  when  my  Lady  Clarenham  came 
to  ask  for  a  little  visit  from  me,  she  graciously 
gave  me  leave  for  three  days.  I  never  was  more 
surprised  in  my  life.  I  was  glad  of  any  change, 
for  this  house  has  become  an  intolerable  prison 
for  me. 

And  I  must  say  I  enjoyed  my  stay  very  much, 

—  more  than  I  would  have  thought  possible.  My 
Lady  Clarenham  treated  me  as  an  equal,  and  had 
Mrs.  Patty,  her  little  grand-niece,  to  meet  me. 
She  is  grown  a  fine  young  lady,  but  is  just  as 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  55 


sweet  and  simple  as  she  used  to  be  when  I  was 
her  school-mother.  We  shared  the  same  room, 
and  as  we  were  undressing  I  said  to  her,  — 

"  You  are  more  careful  than  you  used  to  be, 
Patty.  You  do  not  need  me  to  look  after  your 
things,  and  to  see  that  your  bodice  is  laced  prop- 
erly." 

"Ah,  I  used  to  be  a  sad  slattern  in  those  days, 
and  sadly  lazy,  too !  Do  you  remember  how  I 
used  to  hate  my  needle  and  my  netting-pin?" 

"And  do  you  like  them  any  better  now?"  I 
asked. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  she  answered,  in  her  old  serious 
tone.  "  One  day  my  aunt  Clarenham  said  to  me, 
1  Patty,  if  you  would  go  at  your  work  with  a  fixed 
resolution  to  do  your  very  best  at  it,  instead  of 
thinking  how  soon  you  can  finish  it,  you  would 
learn  to  like  it.'  So  I  thought  I  would  try,  if 
only  to  please  my  good  aunt ;  and  I  really  did 
find  her  words  true.  And,  besides,  Dorothy," 
she  added,  with  a  sweet  look  in  her  blue  eyes, 
"you  know,  when  I  was  confirmed,  I  had  to  do 
some  serious  thinking;  and  I  made  up  my  mind  it 
was  not  right  to  hate  what  it  was,  and  always  will 
be,  my  duty  to  do.  So  I  asked  God  to  make  me 
feel  differently  about  it ;  and  I  am  sure  he  did,  for 
I  like  it  now  very  well." 

Patty  is  a  sweet  little  creature  and  always  was, 
but  I  am  not  sure  it  is  right  to  pray  about  such 
things  as  liking  one's  work.  What  she  said  put 
me  on  thinking  of  the  time  when  I  was  myself 


56  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or. 


confirmed,  and  the  resolutions  I  made.  I  wrote 
them  all  down,  I  remember,  but  I  don't  know  what 
has  become  of  them.  But  I  can't  help  it.  If  I 
were  situated  like  Patty,  or  if  my  mistress  were 
like  my  Lady  Clarenham,  I  could  be  as  good  as 
anybody. 

Certainly  my  lady  makes  her  house  very  agree- 
able to  all  her  family.  She  sees  but  little  com- 
pany, and  that  mostly  of  a  grave  and  serious  kind, 
like  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Evelyn,  wrho  were  with  her  one 
day,  in  deep  mourning  for  their  eldest  daughter, 
who  died  lately  of  the  small-pox.  Lady  Claren- 
ham says  she  was  a  very  accomplished  lady,  deeply 
religious,  and  a  pattern  in  all  things,  such  as 
she  hardly  ever  saw  the  like.  Her  parents  are 
afflicted,  of  course,  yet  show  a  wonderful  patience 
and  resignation  under  their  loss.  They  seem  so 
certain  of  seeing  her  again. 

Mr.  Studley  is  not  here  at  present,  having  gone 
to  my  Lady  Clarenham's  place  in  Devonshire  to 
do  some  business  for  her.  My  lady  cannot  say 
enough  in  his  praise,  but  says  she  fears  she  shall 
not  keep  him  long.  She  tells  me  his  father  is  a 
great  enemy  of  all  religion,  and  is  very  angry  with 
his  son  for  his  serious  ways  of  thinking ;  so  that 
he  hath  really  persecuted  the  poor  young  man. 

"  I  really  believe  his  great  object  in  putting  my 
cousin  with  me  was  to  divert  him  from  his  religion  ; 
but,  if  so,  he  has  failed  of  his  object,"  said  she. 
"Edward  has  wrought  such  a  revolution  in  my 
household  as  I  could  never  have  believed  possible. 


Mrs.  Studley^s  Diary.  57 


Not  the  lowest  groom  or  scullion  will  venture  to 
say  an  ill  word  before  him,  and  he  hath  saved  me 
a  great  deal  by  his  economy." 

"  You  are  so  rich,  madam,  I  should  hardly  think 
that  would  be  needful,"  I  ventured  to  saj^. 

"'Tis  true,  I  am  rich,"  she  answered  kindly; 
"but,  though  I  had  the  wealth  of  the  Indies  at 
my  disposal,  I  should  not  feel  it  right  to  waste  a 
crumb  that  might  help  one  of  God's  needy  crea- 
tures. We  are  but  stewards  of  what  he  gives  us, 
sweetheart,  and  must  answer  it  to  him  if  we  waste 
his  goods." 

That  is  a  very  different  way  of  saving  from  my 
mistress's.  I  wonder  if  that  is  the  reason  my  Lady 
Clarenham  lives  so  quietly,  and  sees  so  little  com- 
pany. It  was  very  ungrateful  in  me,  but  I  confess 
I  was  a  trifle  disappointed.  I  did  want  one  little 
peep  at  the  gay  world  of  which  I  used  to  hear 
from  Mr.  Moiiey.  Ah,  me !  shall  I  ever  see  him 
again  ? 

Certainly  Lady  Clarenham  is  very  different 
from  my  mistress.  I  don't  think  it  can  be  the 
form  of  religion  altogether,  either ;  for  there  are 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pendergast,  as  poor  as  the  sparrows, 
yet  they  find  means  to  help  poor  Jane  Gaskell,  and 
others  of  their  flock,  who  are  worse  off  than  them- 
selves. And  my  mistress  is  as  religious  in  her 
way  as  Lady  Clarenham  in  hers.  To  be  sure,  she 
does  not  go  to  prayers  every  morning;  but  she  reads 
nothing  but  good  books,  and  dreadfully  dull,  —  as 
I  know  to  my  cost,  —  and  hath  all  the  points  of 


58  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


doctrine  at  her  fingers'  ends.  But,  somehow,  her 
religion  does  not  make  her  happy,  like  Lady  Clar- 
enham's  and  poor  Mr.  Evelyn's.  I  wish  I  were  like 
them,  for  I  am  sure  I  need  comfort  badly  enough. 
My  heart  is  like  to  break  at  times.  And  to  think  I 
could  not  even  bid  him  farewell !  What  must  he 
have  thought  of  me  ? 

Well,  I  staid  with  my  lady  three  pleasant  days, 
and  then  she  brought  me  home.  At  parting,  she 
gave  me  a  purse  with  three  gold  pieces  in  it,  and 
a  pretty  equipage  for  my  pocket.  She  also  gave 
me  her  address,  and  bade  me  apply  to  her  if  ever 
I  needed  a  friend. 

So  here  I  am  at  home  again,  and  I  almost  wish 
I  had  never  been  away.  My  lady  is  in  her  worst 
humor,  and  frets  and  scolds  from  morning  till 
night.  She  is  able  to  be  about  the  house  a  little 
now,  and  hath  taken  the  keys  into  her  own  keep- 
ing. The  consequence  is  that  we  hardly  have 
enough  to  eat.  The  cook  is  gone  to  live  with 
Mr.  Pepys,  a  gentleman  of  the  navy,  friend  to  Mr. 
Evelyn  whom  I  met  at  my  Lady  Clarenham's;  and 
Mary  Mathews  has  given  warning.  She  hath 
staid  longer  than  any  maid  we  ever  had  since 
my  coming,  and  I  am  sorry  to  have  her  leave. 

May  20. 

I  have  been  very  unwell,  with  a  kind  of  low 
ague ;  so  that  I  kept  my  bed  for  two  or  three  weeks, 
and  my  room  still  longer.  I  had  no  spirit  for  my 
writing  or  any  thing  else,  and  almost  wished  I 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


59 


might  die,  —  almost,  but  not  quite.  I  can't  get 
over  my  dread  of  that  dreadful  unknown  country 
and  that  awful  Judge.  I  almost  wish  I  had  no 
religion  at  all,  like  Mr.  Morley,  who  is  wholly  a 
sceptic  in  such  matters.  But  even  he  said  once  he 
thought  devotion  becoming  in  a  woman. 

I  am  about  now,  and  waiting  on  my  lady  again. 
I  don't  see  what  is  to  come  to  her.  I  think  she 
grows  to  grudge  the  very  air  she  breathes.  Mrs. 
Williams  remonstrated  with  her  about  our  diet,  I 
know;  and  since  then  we  have  a  little  more,  but  of 
the  plainest  and  coarsest,  —  brown  bread  and  broth, 
broth  and  brown  bread,  with  a  dish  of  dried  ling 
now  and  then  for  a  change.  My  appetite  is 
squeamish  since  my  illness  ;  and  I  think  I  should 
starve  outright,  if  Mary  Mathews,  who  hath  con- 
sented to  stay  awhile,  did  not  now  and  then  cook 
me  some  little  mess  and  bring  it  to  my  room. 

May  21. 

Here  has  been  a  fine  to  do,  and  my  lady  is  like 
a  bear  robbed  of  her  cubs.  I  was  reading  to  her 
to-day  the  news-letter  which  Mr.  Robertson  sends 
her,  when  Mary  announced  Dr.  Bates  and  Mr. 
Pendergast.  Now,  Dr.  Bates  is  a  very  great  light 
among  the  Presbyterians.  He  is  really  and  truly 
a  very  fine  gentleman,  though  a  bit  pompous  and 
stiff,  and  I  do  believe  a  very  good  man.  My  lady 
received  him  with  great  courtesy,  and  was  all 
smiles,  which  changed  quickly  to  frowns  wlien  she 
heard  his  errand.    It  seems  an  information  hath 


60 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


been  filed  against  Mr.  Baxter  for  some  reflections 
against  Government,  printed  in  his  late  commen- 
tary on  the  New  Testament.  He  is  to  be  brought 
before  that  dreadful  chief  justice  in  a  few  days, 
and  the  Presbyterians  are  raising  a  fund  for  his 
defence,  and  for  the  comfort  of  his  family  should 
he  be  put  in  prison.  Dr.  Bates  had  been  collect- 
ting  the  subscriptions,  and  was  now  come  to  Lady 
Corbet  on  the  same  errand. 

"  You  will  doubtless  feel  it  a  privilege,  madam, 
to  contribute  your  share  for  the  defence  of  this 
excellent  and  self-sacrificing  man,  who  hath  so  long 
been  a  standard-bearer  in  our  ranks, "  said  Dr. 
Bates,  in  that  full,  pure,  melodious  voice  of  his, 
which  hath  earned  him  the  name  of  "  silver- 
tongued  Bates."  I  saw  the  corners  of  Mr.  Pen- 
dergast's  mouth  twitch,  and  his  eyes  glisten  with 
a  smile.  All  his  hardships  and  stern  beliefs  have 
not  taken  the  fun  out  of  him. 

"  And  what  is  the  trouble  with  Mr.  Baxter,  that 
he  must  go  a-begging  at  his  age  ?  "  asked  my  lady 
sharply. 

I  saw  Dr.  Bates's  color  begin  to  rise  a  little  ;  but 
he  restrained  himself,  and  in  the  same  courteous 
tone  repeated  the  matter  from  the  beginning. 

"  It  was  very  foolish  of  Mr.  Baxter  to  embroil 
himself  with  the  Government  just  at  this  time, 
when  everybody  thinks  his  Majesty  will  soon 
grant  a  universal  toleration,"  was  my  lady's 
comment.  "  Methinks  he  might  have  had  a  little 
patience,  instead  of  getting  into  this  broil." 


Mrs.  Studlei/s  Diary. 


61 


"  His  Majesty  will  never  grant  any  such  tolera- 
tion ;  or,  if  he  should,  it  will  be  on  condition  that 
the  same  be  extended  to  the  Papists,  and  I  think 
we  should  hardly  accept  that,"  said  Dr.  Bates. 
"  As  to  Mr.  Baxter,  the  thing  is  done  now ;  and  you 
know  him  well  enough,  madam,  to  be  aware  that 
he  would  not  take  back  what  he  believed  to  be 
true,  if  the  stake  lay  straight  in  his  path.  There 
are  lawyers  ready  to  defend  him,  but  of  course 
expenses  must  be  met." 

The  doctor  grew  more  emphatic  as  my  lady 
hesitated ;  and  he  went  on  to  set  forth  Mr.  Baxter's 
good  qualities  in  a  way  that  did  him  honor,  I  am 
sure.  I  do  like  a  man  that  can  frankly  allow 
merit  in  another.  Mr.  Pendergast  supported  him 
ably  and  boldly.  My  lady  hemmed  and  hawed 
and  took  snuff,  —  about  the  only  luxury  she  allows 
herself,  —  and  at  last  asked  what  her  brother  Rob- 
ertson had  given. 

"Twenty  pounds,"  answered  the  doctor  brief- 
ly. I  could  see  his  patience  was  waxing  thread- 
bare. 

"  Twenty  pounds ! "  almost  screamed  my  lady. 
"  Twenty  pounds,  and  he  owing  me  three  hundred 
pounds  this  very  minute,  and  only  paying  me  eight 
per  cent  when  I  could  easily  get  ten  !  " 

"  Your  brother-in-law  is  a  man  of  a  liberal  spirit, 
as  I  remember  your  husband  was,"  observed  Dr. 
Bates. 

"  Liberal,  quotha !  Yes,  liberal  enough.  I  might 
have  been  thousands  of  pounds  better  off  at  this 


62  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


minute  if  he  had  not  been  quite  so  liberal.  Charity 
begins  at  home,  to  my  thinking." 

"  That  is  where  we  want  you  to  begin  it,  — here 
in  your  own  house,"  said  Mr.  Pendergast. 

I  could  not  forbear  smiling. 

"Dolly,  why  are  you  grinning  there  like  a 
Cheshire  cat?"  demanded  my  lady,  turning  the 
vials  of  her  wrath  on  me,  as  usual.  Then  turning 
again  :  "  I  dare  say,  you,  Mr.  Pendergast,  have 
given  of  your  wealth." 

"  I  could  not  give  of  my  wealth,  madam ;  and 
so,  like  the  Macedonian  Christians,  I  had  to  give 
of  my  poverty,"  said  the  little  man,  speaking  with 
as  much  dignity  as  a  bishop.  He  is  not  to  be  set 
down,  if  he  is  little  and  poor.  My  lady  seemed  to 
think  she  had  gone  far  enough. 

"  People  have  an  exaggerated  notion  of  my 
wealth,"  said  she,  in  a  more  civil  tone.  "  'Tis  a 
great  plague  to  be  accounted  rich.  Every  beggar 
and  every  subscription -paper  come  to  one.  In 
these  times  of  shifting  and  changing" —  She 
paused  a  moment,  and  the  doctor  took  her  up 
sharply. 

"  In  these  times  of  shifting  and  changing,  and, 
you  may  add,  of  dying,  madam,  would  you  not  do 
well  to  place  at  least  a  part  of  your  wealth  out  on 
good  security  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  always  do  that ! "  said  my  lady  com- 
placently. "  I  always  look  out  for  good  security, 
and  that  is  one  reason  why  I  don't  think  my 
brother  has  been  wise  in  this  matter.    Mr.  Baxter 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


63 


is  an  old  man,  and  I  don't  believe  either  he  or  his 
family  will  ever  be  able  to  pay  back  what  you 
propose  to  lend  them." 

"  Pay  it  back ! "  exclaimed  Dr.  Bates,  his  eyes 
fairly  flashing  fire  through  his  glasses ;  "  do  you 
think,  madam" —  And  then,  as  it  were,  biting 
off  his  words,  as  Mr.  Pendergast  touched  his  arm, 
he  stood  silent,  while  the  other  minister  explained 
that  the  sum  collected  was  not  to  be  a  loan,  but  a 
gift.  My  lady  twisted  and  turned,  hemmed  and 
hawed,  and  finally  said,  though  she  thought  Mr. 
Baxter  had  been  unwise,  she  supposed  she  must 
give  her  mite  for  his  defence.  I  thought  Dr.  Bates's 
spectacle  frames  must  have  melted  in  the  light- 
nings that  flashed  from  behind  them ;  but  he  did 
not  speak.  I  think  he  was  afraid  to  trust  himself. 
Mr.  Pendergast  took  up  the  word. 

"  Very  good,  madam ;  you  talk  of  your  mite. 
You  know  the  poor  widow's  two  mites  were  her 
day's  income.  We  will  be  content  with  a  similar 
gift  from  you  ;  that  is,  a  day's  income." 

"  You  will !  "  squalled  my  lady  again.  (Squall 
is  not  a  pretty  word,  but  her  voice  really  did  sound 
like  Lady  Clarenham's  parrot).  "  A  day's  income, 
indeed !  Why,  that  would  be  more  than  twenty 
pounds !  A  day's  income,  indeed,  with  this  house 
to  keep,  and  taxes  to  pay,  and  idle  sluts  hanging 
on  me  who  do  not  earn  their  keeping  "  (this  with 
a  glance  at  me).  "  A  day's  income,  indeed!  Do 
you  think  I  am  made  of  money  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  are  made  of,  madam," 


64  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


said  Dr.  Bates,  rising,  and  speaking  in  a  voice 
which  had  more  the  ring  of  steel  than  silver. 
"  But  this  I  can  see,  that  you  have  great  need  to 
examine  your  evidences,  and  make  sure  that  you 
are  in  a  state  of  salvation.  I  very  much  fear  that 
you  have  neither  part  nor  lot  in  the  matter,  and 
that  your  heart  is  not  more  right  in  the  sight  of 
God  than  that  of  Simon  Magus  himself." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  speaking  so  to 
me,"  said  my  lady,  looking  alarmed.  "  I  am  sure 
I  am  a  good  Presbyterian,  and  believe  the  Assem- 
bly's Catechism  from  beginning  to  end." 

"  It  is  possible  to  hold  the  truth  in  unrighteous- 
ness," answered  Dr.  Bates.  "  A  greater  authority 
than  the  Assembly's  Catechism  hath  said,  'Ye  can- 
not serve  God  and  mammon,'  and  that  '  no  covet- 
ous man  who  is  an  idolater  hath  any  part  in  the 
kingdom  of  God  and  of  Christ.'  —  Come,  brother 
Pendergast,  we  do  but  waste  our  time  here." 

"  You  are  very  hard  on  me,"  said  my  lady,  as 
with  trembling  hands  she  extracted  her  purse  from 
her  pocket,  and  drew  out  something.  "  There,  I 
will  give  you  that,  and  perhaps  more  if  it  is  needed  ; 
but  I  don't  believe  it  will  be,  especially  as  you 
say  so  many  of  the  established  clergy  stand  by 
Mr.  Baxter."  (Dr.  Bates  had  told  us  this,  though 
I  forgot  to  put  it  down  in  the  proper  place).  — 
"Dolly,  why  don't  you  see  the  gentlemen  out?" 

I  was  glad  to  escape,  for  I  was  boiling  over. 
To  think  of  that  kind  old  man,  her  own  life-long 
friend  and  her  husband's,  being  brought  before 


Mrs.  Studlei/s  Diary. 


65 


that  dreadful  Judge  Jeffreys;  and  she  grudging  a 
few  pounds  for  his  defence.  As  I  followed  the 
gentlemen  into  the  ante-room,  I  heard  Mr.  Pender- 
gast  ask,  — 

"  What  did  she  give  you  at  last?" 

"  Seven  shillings,"  answered  Dr.  Bates.  Then, 
sighing:  "Certainly,  the  old  Adam  will  never  die 
in  me  till  I  die  myself,  brother.  My  fingers  itched 
to  throw  it  in  her  face  !  " 

I  suppose  it  was  wicked  in  me,  but  it  comforted 
me  to  hear  the  good  man  make  this  confession. 
He  turned  to  me,  as  I  entered  the  room,  with  his 
kindly  smile.  "  Do  not  trouble  yourself,  my  dear 
young  lady.    We  can  easily  let  ourselves  out." 

"  I  wanted  to  speak  with  you,"  said  I ;  and  then 
added,  awkwardly  enough,  I  dare  say,  "  Will  you 
please  give  Mr.  Baxter  this  gold  piece  for  me  ?  " 

The  ministers  looked  at  each  other,  and  then  at 
me. 

"But,  daughter,  is  not  this  a  great  deal  for 
you?  "  asked  Dr.  Bates. 

"  It  was  a  present  to  me,"  said  I.  "  Mr.  Baxter 
has  been  very  good  to  me,  and  "  —  And  here,  like 
a  goose,  I  fell  a-weeping  as  I  thought  how  kindly 
he  had  spoken  the  very  last  time  I  saw  him. 
"  Please  do  take  the  money,"  I  added,  checking 
my  tears  as  well  as  I  could.  "  'Twas  given  me  to 
do  what  I  like  with.' 

"  I  will  take  it,  then,  and  I  am  sure  a  blessing 
will  go  with  it,"  said  the  doctor,  laying  his  hand 
on  my  head.    "  May  the  Father  of  the  fatherless 


66 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


bless  thee,  my  child ! "  Then,  turning,  he  asked 
Mr.  Pendergast,  "Does  she  belong  to  us?" 

"Not  she,"  answered  Mr.  Pendergast.  "I  can- 
not make  a  Presbyterian  of  her ;  though  my  wife 
and  I  have  tried,  haven't  we,  Dolly  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  you  have  both  been  very  good  to 
me,"  I  answered ;  "  but  every  one  is  not  like  you. 
My  mother  was  of  the  Church  of  England,  and  I 
cannot  leave  it  without  better  reason  than  I  have 
yet  seen." 

"  Ah,  well,  the  light  may  come ! "  said  the 
doctor  kindly.  "Pray  for  light,  my  child;  and, 
once  more,  the  God  of  the  fatherless  bless  thee ! " 

Mary  Mathews  was  waiting  at  the  door,  and  I 
saw  her  give  the  doctor  something.  When  I  had 
a  chance,  I  asked  her  how  much. 

"  Five  shillings,"  said  she  shortly.  "  I  had 
saved  it  toward  a  Sunday  gown,  but  my  old  one 
will  serve  a  wThile  yet.  I  have  not  forgotten  how 
kindly  Mr.  Baxter  spoke  to  me  the  day  I  was 
crying  for  my  poor  dead  sister." 

"So  is  not  a  word  better  than  a  gift?"  My 
lady  hath  been  in  her  worst  humor  all  day,  say- 
ing the  most  provoking  and  outrageous  things, 
and  insulting  both  Mrs.  Williams  and  myself 
every  time  we  opened  our  mouths.  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams's Welsh  blood  boiled  over  at  last,  and  she 
gave  her  back  hot  and  hot,  ending  with  giving 
warning ;  whereat  my  lady  cooled  down,  and  pres- 
ently went  into  fits  of  the  mother.  She  did  not 
gain  much  by  that,  for  Mrs.  Williams  plied  her 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary. 


67 


with  hartshorn  and  burnt  feathers ;  and  as  she 
continued  winking  and  blinking,  and  pretending 
not  to  see  or  hear,  she  poured  into  her  mouth 
a  most  abominable  decoction  of  valerian  and  rue, 
the  very  smell  of  which  almost  made  me  sick. 
It  brought  my  lady  to  in  an  instant,  sputtering 
and  choking,  and  declaring  she  was  poisoned, 
and  demanding  what  had  been  given  her. 

"  Only  my  Lady  Pendarves's  cordial  against 
fits,"  answered  Mrs.  Williams,  tranquil  as  a  sum- 
mer morning ;  for,  having  discharged  her  culverins 
with  such  good  effect,  she  could  afford  to  be  as 
quiet  as  those  same  culverins  when  unloaded  of 
their  powder.  "  'Tis  a  sovereign  remedy,  as  you 
may  see.  Perhaps  you  had  better  take  a  little 
more;"  and  she  again  advanced  the  cup  to  her 
lips. 

"  No,  no  !  I  am  quite  well  now,"  said  my  lady 
hastily.  "I  should  not  be  ill  only  for  your  and 
Dolly's  fretting  me  so,  poor,  weak  creature  that  I 
am  !  "  and  with  that  she  began  to  cry,  but  stopped 
as  she  saw  Mrs.  Williams  shaking  her  bottle  again. 
As  for  me,  I  was  ready  to  die  laughing ;  but  I  can 
always  keep  a  sober  face,  if  I  please. 

"  I  hope  your  new  woman  may  suit  you  better 
than  myself,"  said  Mrs.  Williams.  "  I  heard  that 
Mrs.  Jerningham,  who  hath  lived  in  my  Lord  Ox- 
ford's family,  desires  a  place ;  and  I  can  bid  her 
call  on  you,  if  you  please." 

"  Yes,  a  fine  addition  she  would  be  to  my  fam- 
ily, no  doubt,"  snapped  my  lady.    "  You  are  very 


68 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


unkind,  Williams,  to  speak  of  such  a  thing,  when 
you  know  what  a  poor,  suffering  creature  I  am, 
with  no  one  to  care  for  me  since  my  poor  husband 
died. — Dolly,  take  your  work,  and  go  sit  in  your 
own  room." 

"I  think  Mistress  Dolly  had  better  go  for  a 
little  walk,  since  the  day  is  so  warm  and  fine," 
said  the  pitiless  Mrs.  Williams.  "I  could  give 
her  Mrs.  Jerningham's  address,  if  your  ladyship 
would  like  to  have  her  call  on  you." 

"  Hold  your  tongue  about  Mrs.  Jerningham.  — 
Dolly,  go  and  walk,  then,  and  see  if  you  can  pick 
up  some  news." 

I  went  as  I  was  bid,  and  was  glad  of  the  chance 
to  be  in  the  air  a  little. 

May  26. 

Poor  Mr.  Baxter  hath  really  been  sentenced  to 
a  fine  and  imprisonment.  Mr.  Pendergast,  who 
was  present,  said  the  old  gentleman  carried  him- 
self like  a  hero  all  through.  The  trial  was  a 
shameful,  indecent  mockery  of  justice.  Mr.  Bax- 
ter's council  was  not  allowed  to  say  a  word  in  his 
defence,  and  several  distinguished  clergymen  of 
the  Church  of  England  who  tried  to  speak  for 
him  were  insulted  and  roared  down.  It  is  said 
that  Judge  Jeffreys  proposed  that  he  should  be 
whipped  at  the  cart's  tail ;  but  the  motion  raised 
such  a  murmur  of  indignation,  even  among  the 
most  subservient  of  the  courtiers  and  court  offi- 
cials, that  he  dared  not  persist.  Mr.  Pendergast 
says,  that,  considering  the  troubles  in  the  North, 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


69 


and  the  fears  of  a  rising  in  behalf  of  the  Duke  of 
Monmouth,  the  sentence  is  lighter  than  Mr.  Bax- 
ter's friends  had  any  reason  to  expect. 

Somehow,  ever  since  Dr.  Bates  was  here,  the 
words  of  his  blessing  have  dwelt  upon  mine  ear. 
"'The  Father  of  the  fatherless,"  —  it  hath  a  lovely 
sound.  But  I  don't  think  He  can  be  my  father, 
else  he  would  never  leave  me  here  where  I  am  so 
miserable,  and  where  I  cant  be  good  if  I  would. 

I  suppose  my  lady  has  made  it  up  with  Mrs. 
Williams,  for  there  is  no  more  talk  of  her  going 
away.  I  am  glad  of  it  with  all  my  heart.  I  am 
sure  I  could  never  Jive  here  without  her,  and  I 
have  nowhere  else  to  go.  My  Lady  Clarenham 
did  say  something  as  to  telling  my  aunt  about  me, 
but  I  don't  build  on  it.  'Tis  not  likely,  with  her 
family,  that  she  would  care  to  be  troubled  with 
me.  But,  as  I  said,  I  fancy  Mrs.  Williams  has 
made  her  own  terms.  She  keeps  the  keys  again,  my 
lady  saying  she  is  not  able  to  attend  to  the  house- 
keeping any  more  ;  and  we  fare  very  much  better 
in  consequence.  She  is  civil  enough  to  me  before 
Mrs.  Williams,  but  takes  it  out  on  me  behind  her 
back.  However,  I  get  more  liberty  than  I  did, 
and  take  a  walk  every  day  when  it  is  fine. 

May  30. 

It  is  said  that  the  rebellion  in  Scotland  is 
quashed,  and  the  Earl  of  Argyle  is  in  prison  and 
like  to  lose  his  head.  I  am  glad  on't,  I  am  sure  ; 
not  that  the  poor  gentleman  is  to  lose  his  head, 


70 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


but  that  the  rebellion  is  so  soon  put  down,  since 
they  say  it  could  never  have  succeeded.  I  hope 
they  will  not  be  too  severe  with  the  poor  wretches  ; 
but  those  that  know  say  that  the  king  hath  no 
mercy  in  his  heart.  There  are  rumors  of  an  inva- 
sion under  the  Duke  of  Monmouth. 

This  morning,  walking  in  the  park  very  early,  — 
I  like  to  go  early,  because  I  see  no  one  at  that 
hour,  —  I  saw  Barbara  Andrews,  sister  to  Mr. 
Andrews,  Ursula's  servant  that  was.  I  have 
always  liked  Bab,  who  is  an  upright,  downright 
sort  of  girl;  but  we  have  never  been  intimate. 
She  looked  very  pretty  in  her  deep  mourning, 
with  her  fair  hair,  that  never  will  lie  smooth, 
dancing  in  little  curls  about  her  forehead.  She 
had  a  basket  on  her  arm,  and  told  me  she  was 
going  to  carry  something  to  a  poor  body ;  and,  as 
I  had  plenty  of  time,  I  offered  to  go  with  her. 

"  Have  you  seen  Ursula  lately  ?  "  I  asked  of  her, 
as  we  walked  along.  I  was  surprised  to  see  Bab's 
eyes  flash,  and  her  lips  curl,  at  the  question ;  for 
though  she  and  Ursula  were  as  unlike  as  chalk 
and  cheese,  and  I  never  thought  any  love  was  lost 
between  them,  yet  they  always  got  on  well  enough. 

"  She  is  busy,  I  dare  say,"  she  answered,  "  though 
I  should  not  think  she  need  have  so  much  to  do : 
she  had  her  wedding-clothes  ready  to  her  hand." 

"  Bab,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  I  exclaimed,  stand- 
ing stock-still  in  my  amazement.  "  Ursula  is  not 
going  to  be  married  —  not  Ursula  —  not  so  soon  ?  " 

"Even  so,"  said  Bab.    "You  know  if  she 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  71 


should  wait  longer  the  mode  might  change,  and 
the  things  go  out  of  fashion."  And  with  that  she 
laughed,  and  then  fell  a-weeping  so  bitterly,  and 
with  such  sobs,  that  I  was  fain  to  draw  her  to  a 
bench  which  stood  under  the  shelter  of  some 
bushes,  and  bring  out  my  smelling-salts  which  my 
Lady  Clarenham's  woman  gave  me.  Bab  is  not 
one  to  make  a  great  fuss.  She  checked  herself  as 
soon  as  she  could,  and  wiped  her  eyes. 

"  I  am  a  fool,  Dolly,  and  that  is  the  truth.  Why 
should  I  care?  Only  I  do  think  she  might  have 
waited  the  year  out. 

"  6  But  two  short  months,  —  not  two,  — 
A  little  month,  or  ere  those  shoes  were  old 
In  which  she  followed  my  poor  brother's  coffin.'  " 

I  thought  she  was  going  to  cry  again,  and  strove 
to  divert  her. 

"Bab,"  said  I  severely,  "you  have  been  read- 
ing profane  stage  plays.  That  is  out  of  Mr. 
Shakspeare,  I  know." 

"And  so  have  you,  or  you  wouldn't  know," 
she  retorted.  "  But  there  is  no  harm  in  that  play, 
Dolly." 

"I  know  it,"  I  answered.  "I  got  some  of  the 
speeches  by  heart  when  I  was  at  school.  I  only 
wish  I  had  the  book  now.  But  tell  me,  is  Ursula 
really  going  to  be  married,  and  to  whom?" 

"  She  really  is*  and  to  Mr.  Jackson,  her  father's 
partner." 

"  Bab,  I  can't  believe  it,"  I  said,    "  Why,  he  is 


72 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


old  enough  to  be  her  father,  and  a  church-warden 
to  boot !  I  have  heard  her  laugh  at  him  to  his  face 
many  a  time." 

"  And  perhaps  you  may  again;  nevertheless,  she 
is  going  to  marry  him  next  week." 

"  But  what  possesses  her  ?  " 

"  Well,  if  you  want  to  know  what  I  think, 
Dolly,  I  will  tell  you,"  said  Bab,  rising,  and  taking 
up  her  basket  again.  "I  think  Ursula  is,  as  they 
say,  biting  off  her  nose  to  spite  her  face." 

"How  so?" 

«  Why,  she  had  news  from  Newcastle,  or  there- 
abouts, —  wherever  Mr.  Morley  has  gone  —  that  he 
is  to  be  married  to  some  rich  woman  in  that 
place  ;  and  I  think  she  means  to  show  him  that  she 
does  not  care,  and  that  she  can  be  wedded  as 
soon  as  he." 

If  my  life  with  my  mistress  has  done  me  no 
other  service,  it  hath  at  least  taught  me  to  com- 
mand myself,  and  to  hide  my  feelings. 

"But  is  she  sure?"  I  asked.  "'Twould  be  a 
pity  to  do  such  a  thing,  and  then  find  out  that 
it  was  a  mistake,  after  all." 

"  I  believe  the  news  is  quite  true.  You  know 
he  is  a  kinsman  of  Ursula's  on  the  mother's  side. 
I  think  she  always  liked  Mr.  Morley,  even  while 
my  poor  brother  was  alive;  but  Henry  was  so 
blind,  and  he  loved  Ursula.  I  tell  you  what  it  is, 
Dolly,  I  could  almost  find  it  in  my  heart  to  be 
thankful  that  he  hath  escaped  her  hands.  As  to 
Mr.  Morley,  my  opinion  is  that  they  would  have 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


73 


been  well  matched ;  but  for  all  his  hanging  round 
her,  and  sending  her  presents,  I  don't  think  he 
cared  a  pin  for  her." 

"  I  must  hurry  home,  Bab,"  said  I,  glancing  at 
the  clock.  "  I  shall  be  late  ;  and  my  lady  will  bite 
my  head  off  if  I  am  not  at  prayers  to  read  her  a 
chapter  out  of  Chronicles,  all  full  of  hard  names. 
I  wish  those  who  made  the  Bible  had  left  out  that 
part  of  it." 

"  Don't  speak  so  of  the  Holy  Word,  Dolly  dear!" 
said  Bab  seriously,  and  gently  detaining  me  a 
moment.  "  I  could  show  you  some  lovely  things 
even  among  those  same  hard  names." 

w  You  speak  of  the  Bible  as  if  you  really  loved 
it,  Bab.    Do  you  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  do  ;  and  so  would  you  if  you  thought  of 
it  as  I  do,"  answered  Bab.  "  Think  of  it  as  a 
letter  from  a  loving  Father  writ  to  you,  — yes,  just 
as  much  to  yoa  as  if  you  were  the  writer's  only 
child.  Then  you  will  love  it,  and  find  comfort  in 
it,  as  I  do." 

"  You  are  good,  and  I  am  not,"  said  I ;  "  and, 
besides,  I  can't  believe  that  God  loves  me,  when 
he  lets  me  live  with  my  mistress.  But  I  must  go, 
Bab.  Do  come  and  see  me  sometimes.  My  mis- 
tress lies  abed  all  the  afternoon,  and  we  could  have 
some  comfort." 

"I  will,"  said  Bab;  and  as  she  kissed  me  she 
whispered,  "  Dolly  dear,  do  try  to  acquaint  your- 
self with  Him,  and  be  at  peace.  He  can  comfort 
you,  and  he  will :  only  try  him." 


74 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


Bab  must  know,  for  she  has  had  a  great  deal  of 
sorrow  in  her  short  life ;  but  then  she  hath  never 
been  tried  as  I  have.  I  was  home  in  good  time ; 
but  by  ill  luck  my  mistress  had  risen  earlier  than 
usual,  and  of  course  I  came  in  for  a  storm.  To 
pacify  her,  I  told  her  I  had  heard  a  piece  of  news 
from  Barbara  Andrews. 

"  Yes,  you  are  a  fine  pair  of  giglets,  you  and 
Bab  Andrews.  Mark  my  words,  that  girl  will 
never  come  to  any  good.  Her  father  lets  her  read 
romances  and  play-books,  and  poetry  too." 

"  Only  the  Countess  of  Pembroke's  4  Arcadia,' 
and  Mr.  Shakspeare's  plays,"  said  I,  u  and  Mr. 
Spenser's  poems." 

"  You  let  me  catch  you  with  any  of  them,  and 
see  what  you  will  get,"  was  the  grim  response. 
u  I  wonder  what  his  dear  friend  Mr.  Baxter  would 
say  to  Mr.  Andrews,  if  he  knew  that." 

"  Mr.  Andrews  gave  fifty  pounds  to  Mr.  Baxter's 
defence,"  said  I.  I  felt  just  like  exasperating  her, 
somehow.  It  seemed  a  relief  to  the  smart  of  my 
own  feelings. 

"  Oh,  that  is  your  great  news,  is  it  ?  Then  here 
is  a  piece  for  you  :  A  fool  and  his  money  is  soon 
parted." 

"  I  am  glad  you  do  not  think  me  a  fool,"  said  I 
demurely ;  "  but  that  was  not  the  news  I  meant, 
for  I  did  not  hear  that  from  Bab.  She  is  not  one 
to  sound  a  trumpet  before  her,  or  her  father  either. 
Shall  I  get  the  books  and  read  to  you  now?" 

"  Tell  me  this  great  news  of  yours  first:  I  see 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


75 


you  are  bursting  with  it,"  said  she  more  good- 
naturedly.  " And  don't  you  vex  me,  Dolly:  you 
may  be  old  and  lonely  yourself,  sometime." 

I  do  wish  she  would  always  be  kind  :  she  can 
be  so  nice  when  she  pleases.  Of  course  I  told  her 
all  about  it. 

"  Ursula  is  a  shrewd  girl ;  she  hath  an  eye  to 
the  main  chance,  I  see,"  was  her  comment.  "  Mr. 
Jackson  hath  a  great  interest  in  the  business,  and 
is  rich  beside.    She  is  doing  well  for  herself." 

"  She  hath  lost  no  time  about  it,"  observed  Mrs. 
Williams.  "Why  'tis  not  two  months  since  poor 
Mr.  Andrews  died ;  but  mayhap  she  is  afraid  her 
wedding-clothes  may  go  out  of  fashion." 

"  Well,  well,  '  tis  the  way  of  the  world,"  said 
my  lady.  "  I  wish  Dolly  may  do  as  well  for  her- 
self. I  must  look  out  a  match  for  you,  child. 
There,  get  the  books  and  read." 

I  could  not  but  think  of  Bab's  words  about 
finding  nice  things  in  the  Book  of  Chronicles 
when  I  came  across  the  story  of  Jabez,  whose 
mother  called  him  so  because  she  bare  him  with 
sorrow.  I  wonder  what  the  poor  woman's  grief 
was.  Anyhow,  I  hope  she  lived  to  see  her  son's 
good  fortune.  If  God  would  only  hear  me  like 
that! 

After  prayers,  and  when  my  lady  had  taken  her 
netting,  she  began  to  talk  about  Ursula  again,  still 
in  high  good-humor;  and  she  was  yet  on  the  theme 
when  Ursula  herself  was  announced.  She  was  in 
black,  but  had  left  off  her  veil ;  and  "  going  to  be 


76 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


married,"  was  written  all  over  her.  She  came  to 
tell  her  dear  aunt  a  piece  of  news,  she  said,  which 
no  doubt  would  surprise  her;  but  she  thought 
dear  aunt  would  understand  her  motives,  and  not 
misconstrue  her  as  some  had  done  who  should 
know  better. 

"  Oh,  dear  aunt  knows  all  about  it ! "  said  my 
lady,  smiling  maliciously.  "  Your  news  is  piper's 
news,  niece.  You  are  going  to  marry  Mr.  Jackson, 
like  a  sensible  girl.  Pray,  when  does  the  great 
event  take  place  ?  " 

"  To-day  week,"  answered  Ursula,  rather  shortly. 
Nobody  likes  to  have  their  grand  news  forestalled. 
And  then,  more  amiably,  "  How  did  you  hear  the 
story?" 

"  Dolly  had  it  from  Bab  Andrews,  this  morning," 
answered  my  lady. 

"  Oh !  and  I  dare  say  Bab  had  plenty  to  say  about 
it,"  sneered  Ursula.  "  I  must  say,  she  and  the 
whole  family  have  treated  me  very  unkindly.  But 
I  did  not  suppose  from  the  way  I  have  heard  her 
talk,  that  she  was  any  great  friend  of  yours,  Dolly. 
I  heard  her  say  only  yesterday —  However,  1 
don't  want  to  make  mischief." 

"  You  won't,"  I  answered  shortly.  "  I  knov*' 
Bab,  and  I  know  she  is  not  one  who  hath  two 
sides  to  her  tongue." 

"And  so  Mr.  Jackson  is  to  be  the  happy  man," 
said  my  lady.   "  He  is  rather  old  for  you,  isn't  he  ?  " 

"  '  Better  an  old  man's  darling  than  a  young 
man's  slave,'  perhaps  Mrs.  Ursula  thinks,"  said 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


77 


Mrs.  Williams ;  and  then,  as  Ursula  bestowed  a 
gracious  smile  in  recompense  for  the  proverb,  she 
added,  uBut  old  men  have  slaves  sometimes  as 
well  as  young  ones." 

"  Mr.  Jackson  is  not  an  old  man ;  he  is  not  yet 
sixty,"  said  my  lady.  "  Never  mind  them,  Ursula, 
they  are  vexed  because  it  is  not  their  chance. 
But  I  did  not  think  it  would  be  Mr.  Jackson. 
What  has  become  of  your  fine  captain,  with  his 
gold  lace  and  his  feathers  and  his  courtier's  airs 
and  graces  ?  " 

"  My  father  would  never  hear  of  my  marrying 
a  soldier,  and  one  who  has  not  a  broad  piece,"  said 
Ursula;  "and  besides,"  she  added,  glancing  at  me, 
"  Capt.  Morley  is  to  marry  some  one  at  New- 
castle, some  rich  coalman's  daughter." 

"  Oh,  indeed !  "  said  my  lady.  "  You  did  not 
hear  that  news,  Dolly  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam,"  I  answered  tranquilly,  though 
I  felt  as  if  I  were  in  a  nightmare,  "  Bab  told  me 
that,  too." 

"  And  when  did  you  hear  as  much?  "  asked  my 
lady,  turning  to  Ursula. 
"  About  two  weeks  ago." 

u  Oh  ! "  said  my  lady,  with  ill-natured  signifi- 
cance. "  And  how  long  have  you  been  engaged 
to  Mr.  Jackson  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  Mr.  Jackson's  fault  if  we  have  not 
been  married,  not  to  say  engaged,  for  a  year, 
madam,"  answered  Ursula.  "  I  must  say  I  am 
thankful  that  Providence  hath  saved  me  from  mar- 


78 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


rying  a  man  I  never  could  really  like,  to  give,  me 
one  that  I  can  both  respect  and  love." 

The  hypocrite  !  She  and  my  lady  are  enough  to 
make  one  disbelieve  in  Providence  altogether. 
And  to  talk  so  about  Mr.  Andrews,  the  good  man, 
—  a  thousand  times  too  good  for  her,  I  am  sure. 
She  went  away  after  a  little;  and  my  lady,  having 
been  pleasant  for  an  hour,  hath  been  as  cross  as  a 
bear  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  to  make  amends.  But 
I  don't  care.  I  don't  believe  anybody  was  ever 
so  unhappy  as  I  am.  "  Acquaint  thyself  with 
Him,  and  be  at  peace,"  Bab  says.  But  I  don't 
know  where  to  find  him,  and  I  have  no  one  to 
help  me. 

June  2. 

"  Sorrow  may  endure  for  a  night,  but  joy  cometh 
in  the  morning."  I  can't  tell  where  I  read  that, 
but  I  think  it  must  be  in  the  Bible.  I  was  com- 
ing home  from  my  walk  this  morning  when  I  met 
a  gentleman  whom  I  had  seen  in  Mr.  Morley's 
company  once  or  twice.  He  saluted  me  and  asked 
if  this  was  not  Mrs.  Dolly  Corbet.  I  courtesied, 
and  answered  yes. 

"  Then  I  have  a  packet  for  your  hands,  fair 
lady,"  said  he.  He  placed  in  my  hands  a  little  par- 
cel, bowed  again,  and  turned  away.  The  packet 
was  inscribed,  "For  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Dorothy 
Corbet;"  and  it  was  sealed  with  scented  wax  and 
a  band  of  blue  floss  silk,  as  the  fashion  is  now.  I 
had  never  seen  Mr.  Morley's  hand,  but  somehow 
I  knew  it  in  a  moment. 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


79 


It  was  not  till  afternoon,  however,  that  I  got  a 
chance  to  open  it.  It  contained  a  ribbon  of  plaid 
silk  and  a  letter  from  Mr.  Morley.  Such  a  loving, 
kind  letter !  I  have  worn  it  next  my  heart  all 
day;  and,  having  it  there,  I  could  afford  to  smile 
at  all  Ursula's  hints  and  taunts  about  wearing  the 
willow  and  so  on.  I  would  rather  wear  the  wil- 
low than  be  fed  on  thistles  by  such  an  old  donkey 
as  Mr.  Jackson.  He  called  here  with  Ursula,  and 
it  was  sickening  to  see  his  spruce,  lover-like  airs. 
I  wonder  she  can  endure  him.  Such  a  contrast 
to  poor  Mr.  Andrews,  who  was  a  man  any  one 
might  love  and  honor ! 

June  8.  • 

We  all  went  to  Ursula's  wedding  yesterday. 
Even  my  lady  would  go ;  and  she  gave  Ursula  a 
present  of  a  lace  whisk  which  1  believe  used  to  be 
poor  Lady  Jem's,  at  least  I  saw  her  in  the  morn- 
ing searching  in  the  great  chest  of  drawers  where 
she  keeps  all  those  things.  She  never  uses  any  of 
them  herself,  and  I  wish  she  would  give  them  to 
me ;  but  there  is  no  danger  of  that.  I  saw  Ursula 
showing  the  whisk  to  Mr.  Jackson,  with  some 
slighting  remark,  to  which  he  answered  rather 
sharply,  — 

" Don't  you  know  better  than  that,  Ursula?  It 
is  old  Flanders  lace,  worth  its  weight  in  diamonds, 
almost.  You  could  easily  sell  it  for  twenty  gui- 
neas to-morrow."  After  which  she  treated  it  with 
more  respect. 

There  were  many  guests  at  the  wedding,  and 


80  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


they  were  all  pretty  merry,  though  there  was  no 
dancing  nor  cards.  But  I  don't  see,  for  my  part, 
why  blindman's  buff  and  the  like  are  any  better 
than  a  good  country  dance.  I  am  sure  there  is 
a  deal  more  romping  about  them.  The  couple 
were  married  at  St.  Margaret's,  where  Mr.  Jackson 
hath  a  fine  pew  all  lined  with  damask.  I  suppose 
Ursula  will  go  to  church  with  him,  of  course,  but  I 
don't  think  she  will  mind.  I  believe  Bab  Andrews 
would  cut  her  hand  off  before  she  would  wed  any 
one  who  should  take  her  away  from  Mr.  Pender- 
gast's  congregation.  And  I  must  say  I  think  she 
is  right.  I  do  always  say,  if  one's  religion  means 
any  thing,  it  means  every  thing. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jackson  went  to  their  own  house 
from  her  father's.  It  is  a  very  good  house,  with  a 
court,  where  grow  two  or  three  trees  and  a  large 
laylock,  now  loaded  with  flowers.  Methought  the 
ancient  serving-man  and  his  wife,  who  have  kept 
house  for  Mr.  Jackson  so  long,  did  look  but  sourly 
on  the  bride,  and  gave  her  a  cool  welcome  ;  but  the 
house  was  in  apple-pie  order,  and  the  cake  and 
spiced  wine  of  the  best  quality.  My  mistress  grew 
weary,  and  came  away  before  all  the  ceremony 
was  done;  and  I  was  not  sorry. 

"  Well,  all  is  over,  and  my  niece  well  settled  in 
life,"  said  my  lady,  yawning,  as  we  helped  her  to 
undress.  "  I  hope  she  was  pleased  with  the  pres- 
ent I  gave  her." 

"  She  had  a  right  to  be,"  said  I  maliciously,  I 
believe,    "  Mr.  Jackson  told  her  it  could  be  sold 


Mrs.  Studley^s  Diary.  81 


to-morrow  for  twenty  guineas.  He  said  it  was  old 
Flanders  lace,  worth  its  weight  in  diamonds." 

My  lady  turned  fairly  green  with  vexation. 

u  Are  you  sure  ?  "  said  she  :  "  twenty  guineas ! 
If  I  had  known  that!  But  I  am  the  most  un- 
lucky woman  in  the  world.  Every  one  robs  me. 
Twenty  guineas ! " 

"  Well,  your  ladyship  need  not  grudge  it,  since 
it  went  to  your  own  niece,"  observed  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams. "  I  could  have  told  you  as  much,  for  I  have 
often  seen  such  lace  when  I  was  abroad  with  my 
former  mistress ;  but  I  thought  you  selected  it  on 
purpose  to  do  honor  to  the  bride." 

My  lad}^  made  a  grimace,  but  she  is  mighty  civil 
to  Mrs.  Williams  nowadays.  This  morning  she 
has  been  rummaging  the  great  chest  of  drawers, 
and  has  got  out  a  pile  of  lace  for  me  to  look  over 
and  mend  for  her.  I  don't  mind.  I  love  to  work 
on  lace,  and,  thanks  to  Mrs.  Price,  I  know  all  the 
stitches ;  but  somehow,  as  I  turned  over  the  beau- 
tiful frail  fabrics,  my  heart  has  been  full  of  sorrow 
for  the  poor  pretty  lady  who  used  to  wear  them, 
and  whom  they  have  outlasted.  Bab  Andrews 
came  in  this  afternoon,  and  brought  my  lady  a  fine 
cream  cheese,  part  of  a  hamper  she  had  from  her 
sister  in  the  country ;  and  my  lady  graciously  asked 
her  to  stay  and  make  a  visit.  Bab  is  even  more 
skilful  than  myself  at  lace-work;  and  as  we  looked 
over  the  things,  and  laid  them  out  on  a  piece  of  old 
colored  silk  to  show  the  patterns,  I  told  her  some 
of  the  thoughts  that  were  running  in  my  mind. 


82  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


"  Doesn't  it  seem  strange,"  said  I,  "  that  these 
spider-webs  should  have  outlasted  the  one  who 
used  to  take  delight  in  them  ?  They  are  as  good 
as  ever ;  but  what  is  left  of  her,  save  her  monu- 
ment in  the  church,  and  the  picture  of  her  down- 
stairs in  the  withdrawing-room  ?  " 

"  You  talk  like  a  Sadducee,  00117,"  said  Bab. 
"  Don't  you  know  poor  Lady  Jemima  is  just  as 
much  alive  as  ever  she  was,  only  not  here  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  she  is,  and  yet  it  does  not  seem  so," 
I  answered.  "  When  a  person  is  dead,  it  seems  as 
though  that  was  the  end.    Does  it  not  to  you? " 

"No,  indeed!"  she  answered,  with  emphasis. 
"  My  dear  mother  and  —  another  friend  —  are  as 
much  alive  to  me  as  ever  they  were,  only  I  can't 
see  them,"  she  added  sadly.  "  O  Dolly,  my  heart 
grows  so  hungry  at  times !  It  seems  as  if  I  could 
not  wait.    But  I  shall  be  satisfied  sometime." 

"And  till  then?" 

"Till  then  I  must  even  work  and  wait,"  she 
answered,  with  her  bright  smile  ;  "  and  the  con- 
solations of  God  are  not  small  with  me,  either, 
Dolly." 

"  If  you  can  say  that,  I  ought  to  be  able  to," 
said  I.  (For  really,  in  some  ways,  Bab  is  worse 
off  than  I.  Her  lover  was  executed  for  complicity 
in  the  Rye  House  Plot,  though  he  died  protesting 
his  innocence  of  aught  but  old  friendship  with 
some  of  the  conspirators.  Her  father  is  old  and 
feeble,  her  mother  is  dead  ;  and  her  aunt,  who 
rules  the  house,  has  the  temper  of  a  wild  bull,  and 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary. 


83 


the  malice  of — I  won't  say  what.  Mrs.  Pender- 
gast  says  Bab  has  the  patience  of  a  saint  with 
her.)  "But  somehow  those  things  seem  to  do 
me  no  good.  I  read  the  Bible  to  my  lady  every 
day,  but  I  don't  seem  to  gain  any  thing  from  it 
but  weariness." 

"  That  is  because  you  don't  take  it  in  the  right 
spirit,  as  I  tell  you,"  said  Bab. 

uBut,  Bab,  I  don't  see  that  Christians  are  so 
very  much  better  off,  after  all,"  said  I.  u  Look 
at  the  Pendergasts ;  and  Mr.  Baxter,  poor  man  ! 
ill  and  in  prison  ;  and  you  yourself,  how  many 
griefs  you  have  had;  and  Mr.  Fairchild.  He 
was  a  good  man,  and  yet  God  did  not  interfere  to 
save  him  from  a  violent  and  unjust  death." 

"  There  again  you  talk  like  a  Sadducee,"  said 
Bab.  "  Your  words  might  be  true  if  this  world 
were  all,  instead  of  the  very  least  part  of  our  life. 
God  has  never  promised  his  faithful  ones  any  ex- 
emption from  trouble  in  this  world.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  hath  said,  6  In  the  world  ye  shall  have 
tribulation,'  4  Whom  the  Lord  loveth  be  chasten- 
eth.'  Mr.  Fairchild's  imprisonment  and  death 
were  not  long,  after  all,  and  they  opened  to  him 
the  gate  of  eternal  life.  And  when  we  look  back 
to  the  most  sorrowful  life,  after  our  sorrow  is  all 
done  and  past  forever,  from  the  distance  of  a 
million  years  of  blessedness,  it  will  not  seem  long 
to  us." 

"I  am  glad  you  take  comfort  in  such  thoughts," 
said  I. 


84 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


"  I  could  not  live  if  I  did  not,"  said  she  ;  and 
then,  her  heart  being  opened,  she  went  on  to  tell 
me  a  great  deal  about  her  lover,  —  how  good  he 
was,  and  what  comfort  he  had,  even  in  his  prison, 
and  how  bravely  he  met  his  death.  Bab  is  not 
one  to  talk  of  her  own  feelings  often,  and  I  valued 
her  confidence  all  the  more. 

"But  there,  I  am  making  you  cry,  and  I  did 
not  mean  to  do  that,"  she  said  presently.  UI 
don't  often  talk  of  myself,  but  there  is  something 
in  you  that  draws  one  out.  I  always  did  like 
you,  Dolly." 

"  I  am  sure  I  am  glad,"  said  I,  and  then  added 
incautiously,  u  I  was  told  you  did  not." 

Bab  glanced  sharply  at  me,  "Ursula?"  I 
nodded. 

"You  should  know  her  well  enough  by  this 
time  not  to  care  for  what  she  tells  you,"  said 
Bab ;  and  then,  breaking  out  with  all  her  natural 
fire  and  vehemence,  "  If  there  is  any  thing  I  detest 
and  despise  on  this  earth,  it  is  a  born  meddler  and 
mischief-maker,  —  a  make-bate  who  repeats  things 
from  one  friend  to  another  to  make  trouble  and 
discord.  Such  a  person  is  the  meanest  reptile 
that  crawls." 

"  If  they  would  content  themselves  with  repeat- 
ing, but  I  think  they  never  do,"  said  I. 

"  Never.    The  tattler  is  always  a  liar." 

"  But,  Bab,  you  should  not  hate  or  despise  any 
one,"  said  I  demurely :  "  doesn't  the  Bible  say  we 
should  pray  for  those  ?  " 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary. 


85 


"Yes,  I  know,  and  I  am  wrong,''  said  Bab; 
"and,  Dolly,  I  do  pray  for  her.  But  you  don't 
know  the  wrong  she  has  tried  to  do  me.  There, 
I  won't  talk  of  it,  or  think  of  it,  either,  if  I  can 
help  it.  Did  you  say  my  Lady  Jemima's  picture 
was  down-stairs  ?    Can  I  see  it  ?  " 

I  took  her  down  to  the  withdrawing-room ;  and 
we  looked  long  at  the  beautiful  face,  drawn  with 
Lely's  best  art. 

"  How  lovely  she  is  !  "  said  Bab  at  last.  "  She 
looks  as  if  made  for  something  better  than  the  life 
they  say  she  led.  What  sort  of  man  was  Sir 
Charles?" 

"He  was  very  kind  to  me,"  I  answered;  "but 
they  say  he  was  a  great  gamester,  and  not  very 
good  otherwise.  But  he  was  kind  to  me.  I  won- 
der what  in  the  world  made  him  marry  my  lady." 

"Her  money,  I  suppose,"  answered  Bab.  "But 
it  was  tied  up  so  he  never  had  much  of  it,  or  so  I 
have  heard.  I  wonder  whether  my  lady  will  ever 
marry  again." 

"  Bab,  the  idea  ! "  I  exclaimed. 

"  And  pray  what  is  there  so  very  absurd  in  that, 
Mrs.  Dolly  ? "  said  a  sharp  voice  behind  us.  I 
turned  in  a  hurry,  and  saw  my  mistress,  who  had 
come  in  like  a  cat,  as  she  always  does,  only  she 
never  purrs.  "Am  I  such  a  dragon  in  your  eyes 
that  you  think  all  the  men  must  be  afraid  of  me  ?  " 

I  told  her  what  was  true,  though  I  fear  not  the 
whole  truth,  —  that  I  had  always  heard  her  regret 
her  last  marriage,  and  say  what  a  foolish  step  it 


86 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


was,  and  how  much  better  off  she  would  have 
been  to  live  single. 

"One  might  have  better  luck  another  time," 
said  she,  as  if  really  considering  the  matter. 
"  However,  you  need  not  get  j  our  bridesmaid's 
dress  ready  yet.    What  about  your  work?  " 

I  told  her  it  was  all  done  ;  and  she  bade  me  put 
on  my  hood,  and  go  tell  Mr.  Jackson  she  wanted 
to  see  him.  I  ventured  to  demur  a  little,  and  say 
I  would  go  with  Bab  after  supper ;  whereupon  she 
took  me  up  sharply  for  wanting  to  be  in  the  street 
at  that  hour.  I  believe  it  was  a  plan  to  keep  Bab 
from  staying  to  supper. 

Mr.  Jackson  was  all  smiles  and  spruceness,  as 
became  a  bridegroom,  and  made  some  speeches  I 
would  have  liked  to  box  his  ears  for.  I  believe  lie 
did  buy  the  laces,  for  they  have  all  disappeared  ; 
and  my  lady  is  in  high  good  humor,  so  that  she 
even  gave  me  half  a  crown. 

June  13. 

Great  news  is  come  from  the  west,  —  no  less 
than  that  the  Duke  of  Monmouth  has  landed  at 
Lyme,  and  has  put  forth  a  proclamation  declaring 
his  right  to  the  crown,  and  accusing  his  uncle  the 
king  of  unheard  of  crimes ;  of  poisoning  his 
brother,  of  strangling  poor  Sir  Edmondsbury  God- 
frey, about  whom  there  was  such  a  coil,  and  what 
not.  Mr.  Pendergast  says  it  is  not  like  a  royal 
proclamation,  but  like  a  libellous  street  broadside ; 
and  so  said  Mr.  Robertson,  who  came  to  talk  over 
the  news. 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


87 


"  Well,  T  can't  but  think  there  may  be  some  truth 
in  his  claim,  after  all  we  heard  about  the  black 
box ,  and,  if  so,  I  hope  he  will  succeed,"  said  my 
mistress. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  say  so,  sister ! "  ex- 
claimed Mr.  Robertson.  "  Such  words,  if  reported, 
might  cost  your  life,  and  ours  too." 

My  mistress  looked  scared. 

uThe  duke's  claim  hath  not  the  shadow  of 
probability,"  continued  Mr.  Robertson.  "  I  well 
remember  seeing  his  mother,  when  I  was  abroad 
as  a  young  man.  She  was  not  a  creature  that  any 
one  was  like  to  marry.  I  know  people  wondered 
at  the  king  for  taking  up  with  her,  for  her  charac- 
ter was  notorious." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  this  business,"  said  the 
minister,  "  and  the  more  so  that  I  fear  some  of  our 
friends  in  the  west  will  be  so  ill-advised  as  to  join 
with  the  duke,  as  others  did  with  the  Duke  of 
Argyle.  I  do  not  so  much  wonder  at  that,  since 
he  was  a  sober  and  religious  gentleman,  though, 
as  I  think,  sadly  ill-advised.  But  I  do  not  know 
what  they  can  expect  from  one  who  leads  the  life 
of  the  Duke  of  Monmouth." 

"  I  suppose  such  great  people  are  not  to  be 
judged  by  common  rules,"  began  my  lady ;  but 
Mr.  Pendergast  turned  on  her  sharply  enough. 

"  And  why  not,  madam  ?  Does  the  Holy  Word 
contain  one  set  of  rules  for  the  great,  and  another 
for  common  people?  If  so,  I  have  never  found  it 
out.    The  idea  is  far  too  common,  but  I  did  not 


88  Through  Unknown  Ways ;  or, 


expect  to  hear  it  from  a  member  of  my  congrega- 
tion." 

Then  Mr.  Robertson  took  her  up, — 

"  And  whatever  you  do,  sister  Corbet,  don't  let 
any  one  hear  you  say  one  word  in  favor  of  this 
unhappy  gentleman.  The  king  is  exasperated  to 
the  last  degree,  and  Judge  Jeffreys  hath  his  ear 
entirely.  I  fear  we  shall  see  bloody  work  before 
all  is  done.  But  I  do  beg  you  to  be  careful,  sister: 
I  don't  want  to  see  you  brought  to  prison  and 
death  in  your  old  age." 

"Dear  me,  what  did  I  say?"  asked  my  lady. 
"  I  only  said  if" 

"And  that  was  an  if  too  much,"  answered  Mr. 
Robertson. 

"And  as  to  my  old  age,  I  am  not  so  very  aged 
as  all  that,"  whimpered  my  lady.  "  One  would 
think  I  were  as  old  as  Dame  Gaskell  to  hear  you 
talk." 

"You  are  old  enough  to  know  better  than  to 
talk  treason,"  said  Mr.  Robertson  very  sharply. 
(It  was  a  wonder,  for  he  is  usually  very  deferen- 
tial to  his  sister-in-law.)  "Why,  if  Mrs.  Dolly 
here  were  to  report  your  rash  words,  you  might 
find  yourself  in  Newgate  to-morrow." 

I  was  boiling  over  with  rage  at  him ;  but  I  was 
spared  the  trouble  of  taking  up  the  cudgels  in 
mine  own  defence,  as  Mr.  Pendergast  did  it  for 
me. 

"  Mrs.  Dolly  is  not  going  to  do  any  such  thing ; 
she  is  no  make-bate  or  tale-pyet,  that  I  will  engage. 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  89 


I  wonder  at  you,  brother  Robertson,  for  casting 
such  a  slur  on  a  young  lady  as  to  insinuate  that 
she  is  to  turn  informer !  " 

I  don't  know  what  there  is  about  that  little  man 
which  gives  him  such  weight.  He  is  small  and 
meagre,  and  as  poor  as  the  young  ravens,  as  Jane 
Gaskell  says ;  and  yet,  when  he  does  take  up  arms, 
all  goes  clown  before  him.  Mr.  Robertson  looked 
ashamed  of  himself. 

"  You  misapprehend  me,  you  quite  misappre- 
hend me,  brother  Pendergast,'''  said  he.  I  meant 
no  insinuation  as  to  Mrs.  Dolly,  who  is,  I  am  sure, 
an  excellent  young  lady ;  but  you  know  young 
maids  will  tattle  and  talk  at  times  incautiously. 
I  am  sure  I  crave  her  pardon,  if  I  have  hurt  her. 
—  You  will  forgive  me,  won't  you,  Mrs.  Dorothy?" 

The  poor  man  looked  really  unhappy.  I  do 
think  he  is  a  kind  soul ;  and,  with  the  specimen  he 
has  at  home,  one  need  not  wonder.  So  what  could 
I  say  but  that  it  was  no  matter ! 

June  18 

I  have  seen  Mr.  Morley.  He  was  in  town  only 
one  day  and  a  part  of  another ;  but  he  gave  us  a 
call,  and  (I  am  almost  ashamed  to  write  it)  I  did 
meet  him  in  the  park  for  a  few  minutes  in  the 
morning.  I  know  it  was  wrong  to  break  my 
promise  to  Mrs.  Williams ;  but  it  is  the  last  time. 
He  goes  to  the  west  to-day,  where  the  rebels  are 
still  holding  their  own,  and  even  making  head. 

Mr.  Morley  asked  me  what  I  heard  among  the 
Presbyterians  about  the  Duke  of  Monmouth.  I 


90  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or. 


told  him  that  all  I  had  heard  speak  of  the  matter 
considered  his  claims  utterly  unfounded,  and  his 
attempt  both  ill-advised  and  wrong. 

"  They  would  be  ready  enough  to  join  him  if  he 
made  his  way  to  London  —  the  sneaking  traitors !  " 
said  Mr.  Morley.  "  And  how  about  your  mis- 
tress? She  hath  an  eye  for  a  fine  young  man, 
and  the  duke  and  Sir  Charles  Corbet  used  to  be 
very  great  together  in  former  days." 

My  cheeks  tingle  with  shame  at  the  thought, 
but  I  came  very  near  telling  him  what  my  mistress 
had  said.  Something,  not  my  own  sense  I  am  sure, 
stopped  me  just  in  time.  It  was  as  if  a  hand  had 
been  laid  on  my  mouth. 

"That  would  be  no  passport  to  my  lady's  favor," 
said  I,  laughing  rather  nervously.  "  She  is  always 
telling  about  poor  Sir  Charles's  wastefulness,  and 
how  much  better  off  she  would  have  been  had  she 
not  married  him.  And  the  stories  of  the  Duke  of 
Monmouth's  extravagance  would  set  her  against 
him  if  nothing  else  did.    I  must  go,  Mr.  Morley." 

"  I  suppose  your  mistress  is  very  rich,"  said  he, 
detaining  me. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  I  answered.  "  I  heard  her  say 
once  that  her  income  was  more  that  twenty  pounds 
a  day.  But  she  is  not  one  to  talk  of  her  affairs. 
But  I  must  go  this  minute." 

Well,  we  parted,  and  he  is  gone.  When  I  think 
over  our  interview,  it  does  seem  strange  to  me  that 
he  should  ask  me  such  questions.  Does  he  think 
I  would  be  a  spy  on  these  poor  people?    And  yet 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


91 


my  heart  was  in  my  mouth  when  I  think  how  near 
I  came  to  betraying  my  poor  mistress.  I  will 
never  again  boast  of  my  power  of  keeping  secrets. 

I  never  thought  to  ask  him  about  the  Newcastle 
lady. 

My  mistress  is  wonderful  good  to  me  about  these 
days.  She  hath  given  me  small  sums  of  money 
two  or  three  times ;  and  to-day  she  presented  me 
with  two  dresses  that  were  Lady  Jemima's,  —  a  gray 
cloth  curiously  wrought  with  silk  embroidery,  and 
a  blue  silk.  Of  course  they  are  all  out  of  fashion, 
but  I  can  make  them  over.  I  am  glad  to  have 
them,  for  I  have  worn  my  best  gown  till  it  is 
hardly  decent  for  every  day. 

June  25. 

I  have  been  so  busy  with  my  dressmaking  that 
I  have  had  no  time  to  write,  and  not  much  to  say. 
My  gowns  are  done  and  look  very  pretty.  My 
mistress  continues  her  good-nature,  and  gives  me 
more  liberty  to  do  what  I  please  than  ever  before ; 
but  she  does  not  like  to  have  rne  go  out. 

Ursula  Jackson  hath  been  here  with  her  odious 
husband.  I  fancy  she  does  not  find  her  married 
life  all  sunshine,  or  he  either.  His  old  servants 
left  him,  for  one  thing,  after  living  with  him 
twenty-five  years,  and  he  has  not  yet  suited  him- 
self. Ursula  told  me  that  Mr.  Morley  had  given 
her  a  visit,  and  seemed  surprised  when  I  told  her 
he  had  been  here  also. 

"  But  he  need  not  come  again,  he  need  not  come 
again,"  said  Mr.  Jackson,  rubbing  his  hands.    "  We 


92 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


don't  want  any  court  falcons  round  our  turtle- 
dove's nest,  do  we,  lovey?" 

Ursula  smiled,  but  it  was  what  Mrs.  Williams 
calls  an  oxymel  smile,  sweet  and  sour  at  the  same 
time.  She  has  been  trying  to  get  Mary  Mathews 
away  from  us,  promising  her  an  advance  of  wages ; 
but  Mary,  who  knows  her  well,  says  she  would  as 
soon  live  with  the  Prince  of  darkness. 

I  don't  know  how  it  is.  I  ought  to  be  happy 
after  seeing  Mr.  Morley,  and  hearing  from  his  own 
lips  how  much  he  loves  me.  But  I  am  not.  My 
conscience  pricks  me  for  breaking  my  promise  so 
solemnly  given,  and  then  there  was  a  something  in 
his  manner,  a  kind  of  freedom.  Something  keeps 
telling  me  that  he  would  not  have  spoken  so  to  a 
woman  he  really  respected.  And  then  his  asking 
me  those  questions.  But  I  am  an  ungrateful,  fan- 
ciful girl,  and  there  is  the  end  on't. 

June  30. 

Great  public  news,  —  the  Duke  of  Monmouth 
was  defeated,  and  his  power  wholly  broken,  at  a 
place  called  Sedgemoor.  Terrible  tales  are  told  of 
the  brutality  used  toward  the  poor  miners  and 
ploughmen  who  had  joined  him.  I  am  sure  I  hope 
Mr.  Morley  had  nothing  to  do  with  these  cruelties. 
The  duke  himself  was  taken  hiding  in  a  ditch,  and 
has  been  brought  to  London.  We  saw  him  pass, 
Mrs.  Williams  and  I,  as  we  were  buying  some 
things  for  my  lady.  He  looked  thin  and  haggard, 
but  not  daunted.  I  am  sorry  for  his  poor  wife, 
who  they  say  loves  him  to  distraction ;  though  he 


Mrs.  Studley^s  Diary. 


93 


cares  for  her  not  at  all,  and  has  not  even  asked  to 
see  her. 

The  murder  is  out.  I  mean  the  secret  of  my 
lady's  kindness  to  me.  I  could  tear  her  fine  gifts 
to  pieces  if  it  were  not  for  the  remembrance  of 
that  morning  in  the  park.  She  is  really  afraid  I 
will  betray  her.  She  asked  me  last  night  to  stay 
and  read  to  her  awhile  after  she  was  in  bed,  say- 
ing she  found  it  hard  to  go  to  sleep,  and  that  I 
might  sleep  later  in  the  morning,  if  I  liked,  to 
make  up  ;  adding,  — 

"  I  dare  say  you  don't  lie  awake  ?  " 

"Not  often,  madam,"  said  I;  "not  unless  I  have 
something  on  my  mind." 

u  Chicks  like  you  ought  not  to  have  any  thing 
on  their  minds.    There,  read  away." 

"  What  shall  I  read,  my  lady  ?  "  I  asked. 

u  Oh,  what  you  like  !  There  is  Mr.  Milton's 
new  poem  lying  on  the  cabinet,  take  that.  Mr. 
Pendergast  thinks  it  is  wonderful,  but  I  don't 
know.  Mr.  Milton  became  an  Independent,  I  re- 
member. How  many  changes  I  have  seen  !  And 
yet  I  have  not  lived  so  very  long.    There,  go  on." 

So  I  began,  — 

"  Of  man's  first  disobedience,  and  the  fruit 
Of  that  forbidden  tree  whose  mortal  taste 
Brought  death  into  the  world  and  all  our  woe.,, 

Once  having  begun,  I  knew  not  where  to  stop. 
The  sentences  are  long,  and  the  sense,  at  times, 
involved ;  but  the  diction,  the  melody,  is  something 


94 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or. 


wonderful.  Well,  I  read  a  long  time,  but  my  lady 
did  not  go  to  sleep.    At  last  she  said,  — 

"  There,  that  will  do ;  it  is  late.  Come  here, 
child."  She  took  my  hand  and  looked  with  a 
curious  wilfulness  in  my  face.  "  You  don't  love 
me,  Dolly,  I  know.  I  ought  not  to  expect  it,  I 
suppose.  I  never  did  make  people  love  me,  onty 
Mr.  Robertson ;  and  1  haven't  been  very  good  to 
you,  perhaps  ?  "  She  looked  at  me  as  if  expecting 
an  answer,  and  I  resolved  to  be  frank  for  once. 

"  No,  my  lady,  I  don't  think  you  have,"  I  an- 
swered. "  You  have  given  me  shelter,  it  is  true, 
and  for  that  I  am  grateful "  — 

"  And  food  and  clothes,"  she  interrupted  me. 

"  And  food  and  clothes,"  I  assented ;  "  but  you 
have  not  given  me  what  is  worth  even  more  to  a 
young  maid,  and  that  is  kindness.  You  seem  as  if 
you  grudged  the  very  food  you  gave,  and  I  never 
am  at  ease  with  you.  I  never  know  when  the  sim- 
plest word  or  act  of  mine  may  bring  down  a  storm 
of  anger  and  abuse  on  my  head.  I  would  ask  noth- 
ing more  than  to  be  able  to  love  and  respect  you, 
but  how  can  I  ?  " 

I  thought  I  had  done  it  now,  but  she  only 
sighed. 

"  Well,  well !  Maybe  you  are  right.  My  aunt 
Wilson  told  me  once  I  was  like  some  man  she 
read  of  in  a  story-book:  I  never  could  have  fair 
weather  because  I  carried  my  own  storm  wherever 
I  went.  But,  Dolly,  you  can  be  sorry  for  me.  You 
would  not  want  to  be  revenged.    You  would  not 


Mrs.  Studley^s  Diary. 


95 


wish  to  see  your  poor  old  mistress  in  Newgate  or 
on  the  scaffold?  " 

It  flashed  on  me  then  in  a  moment  what  it  all 
meant.  I  tried  to  draw  my  hand  away,  but  she 
held  me  fast. 

"  Do  you  judge  me  by  yourself?"  said  I,  too 
angry  to  measure  my  words.  "  Would  you  do  as 
much  by  me  ?" 

"But  they  might  tempt  you,  they  might  offer 
you  money,"  said  she  piteously.  "Don't  be  angry, 
Dolly,  but  promise  you  won't  betray  me." 

"  And  what  would  1113'  promise  be  worth,  if  I 
were  what  you  think  me  ?  "  I  asked.  And  then 
all  at  once  came  the  remembrance  of  how  near  I 
had  come  to  doing  that  very  thing  through  sheer 
carelessness,  and  I  felt  that  I  was  no  such  grand 
person  after  all.  As  the  poor  thing  held  my  hand 
and  gazed  into  my  face,  my  heart  softened  toward 
her,  poor,  lonely,  unloved  and  unloving  old  woman. 
I  am  at  least  better  off  than  she,  because  I  can 
love,  and  have  some  one  to  love  me. 

"  My  lady,"  said  I,  trying  to  speak  calmly,  for  I 
saw  how  agitated  she  was,  and  I  feared  a  fit. 
"  Listen  to  me.  I  don't  boast  of  what  I  would 
or  would  not  do.  Nobody  knows  that  till  the 
trial  comes.  But  I  will  say  this  much.  If  I  know 
myself,  I  would  sooner  cut  off  my  right  hand  than 
say  a  word  which  would  bring  you  into  any 
trouble." 

"  Well,  well,  I  believe  you,"  said  she,  looking 
more  satisfied.   "  You  have  plenty  of  faults,  Dolly, 


06 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


and  you  are  not  very  good-tempered;  but  I  have 
never  caught  you  in  a  lie,  or  even  in  a  false  ex- 
cuse. And  maybe  I  haven't  been  as  kind  to  you 
as  I  ought  to  be.  There,  kiss  me,  child,  and  go 
to  bed." 

I  kissed  her,  and  she  really  did  embrace  me  with 
some  affection.  I  went  away  quite  elated  with 
my  victory ;  but,  when  I  think  matters  over,  I  don't 
feel  so  proud.  Is  a  broken  promise  a  lie  ?  And 
if  I  have  told  no  lies  in  words,  have  I  not  acted 
them  ?    No,  I  don't  feel  proud  of  myself  at  all. 

July  16. 

The  poor,  unhappy  Duke  of  Monmouth  was  ex- 
ecuted yesterday.  When  the  king  consented  to 
see  him,  his  friends  had  hope  for  his  life;  but  now 
'tis  said  his  Majesty  never  had  any  such  intention. 
I  do  think  that  was  dreadful,  as  though  he  wished 
to  feast  his  eyes  on  the  misery  and  degradation  of 
his  own  nephew.  His  poor  wife  visited  him ;  but 
though  he  spoke  to  her  kindly,  and  bid  her  not 
mourn  for  him,  he  showed  her  no  affection.  His 
love  was  given  to  the  Lady  Wentworth ;  and  they 
say  he  told  the  bishops  who  attended  him,  that  he 
considered  her  his  wife  in  the  sight  of  Heaven, 
since  he  was  wedded  to  the  Lady  Anne  Scott  when 
they  were  both  little  children.  The  executioner 
did  his  work  most  foully,  and  came  near  being 
torn  to  pieces  by  the  crowd,  who  rushed  to  dip 
cloths  and  handkerchiefs  in  the  duke's  blood. 

Mr.  Penderrast  brought  us  some  letters  he  has 


Mrs.  Studlei/s  Diary. 


97 


received  from  the  west  country,  telling  dreadful 
stories  of  the  cruelties  practised  there.  I  suppose 
it  was  right  to  make  examples ;  but  it  could  not 
be  necessary  to  throw  little  girls  into  the  common 
prison  for  the  folly  of  their  school-mistress,  or  to 
behead  a  poor  old  lady  for  giving  food  to  the  starv- 
ing fugitives.  Nay,  they  say  the  Ladjr  Alice  Lysle 
would  have  been  burned,  but  for  the  earnest  in- 
tercession of  all  the  clergy  of  Winchester;  but 
even  they  did  not  avail  to  save  her  life.  They 
say  the  chief  justice  is  like  a  madman,  and  that 
Kirke  is  no  better.  It  is  dreadful  to  me  to  think 
of  Mr.  Morley  in  the  midst  of  such  scenes,  and 
perhaps  obliged  to  assist  at  them.  How  his  kind 
heart  must  revolt  at  the  work  ! 

July  18. 

Mr.  Pendergast  has  been  here  to  bid  us  farewell 
for  a  time.  He  hath  had  notice  from  a  sure  hand 
that  the  scenes  of  the  west  country  are  likely 
enough  to  be  re-enacted  here  very  soon ;  and  though, 
as  he  says,  he  shall  not  desert  his  flock,  he  shall 
not  for  the  present  show  himself  openly  among 
men.  His  wife  and  children  go  to  her  father,  who 
is  a  yeoman  in  Kent,  not  rich,  but  able  and  will- 
ing to  give  his  daughter  a  home.  I  am  sorry  to 
miss  them.  Mr.  Pendergast  is  a  most  agreeable 
man,  and  both  he  and  his  wife  have  been  very 
good  to  me.  Besides,  they  had  more  influence 
with  my  lady  than  any  one  else,  even  Mr.  Baxter 
himself.  I  fear  the  poor  man's  prison  will  not  be 
the  easier  for  what  has  happened.    I  would  I  could 


98  Through  Unknown  Ways. 


see  him,  and  carry  him  some  comforts,  as  Bab  An- 
drews has  done  ;  but  when  I  ventured  to  ask  leave 
to  go  with  her,  my  mistress  went  into  such  a  tak- 
ing that  she  nearly  brought  on  a  fit,  —  a  real  fit,  I 
mean.  Mrs.  Williams  tells  me  I  must  be  careful 
not  to  agitate  her,  and  I  am.  I  don't  want  the 
poor  thing's  death  at  my  door.  She  is  much  kinder 
to  me  than  formerly;  and  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be 
happy,  knowing  as  I  do  that  Mr.  Morley  loves 
me.  But  I  don't  know,  I  suppose  nobody  ever 
is  really  content  in  this  world.  Bab  would  say  it 
is  because  they  strive  to  be  content  with  what  was 
never  meant  to  satisfy  them,  but  I  don't  know. 

I  have  really  written  through  this  the  smallest 
of  my  three  books.  I  wonder  what  the  lady  who 
so  carefully  prepared  it  for  her  daughter  would 
say  if  she  saw  how  it  was  filled.  She  was  a  devout 
lady,  that  I  am  sure  of,  from  the  few  sentences 
written  in  this  book;  but  it  seems  her  daughter 
did  not  take  after  her.    I  wonder  why. 


THE  SECOND  BOOK. 


BOOK  II. 

August  1,  1685. 

ITTLE  did  I  think,  when  I  closed  the  last 
book,  that  the  new  one  would  open  under 
such  changed  circumstances.  I  had  been 
having  a  pretty  hard  time  for  some  days.  Mrs. 
Williams  was  ill  for  a  week,  and  not  able  to  get 
out  of  bed :  so  I  had  the  whole  care  of  my  mis- 
tress ;  and  a  handful  she  was,  to  be  sure,  and  as 
cross  as  two  sticks.  She  who  takes  to  her  bed 
on  the  smallest  ailment,  and  will  have  the  whole 
house  running  if  her  little  finger  aches,  was  quite 
sure  there  was  nothing  the  matter  with  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams, and  that  she  could  get  up  if  she  only  thought 
so.  Then  she  would  veer  round  to  the  other 
extreme :  Mrs.  Williams  had  an  infectious  fever, 
even  the  plague ;  she  would  die  in  the  house,  and 
give  us  all  the  infection,  and  there  would  be  the 
funeral.  In  vain  the  doctor  assured  her  it  was 
only  a  severe  cold,  which  would  get  well  with 
nursing.  If  that  was  all,  why  need  Williams  lie 
in  bed?  She  had  had  plenty  of  colds,  and  nobody 
thought  any  thing  of  them  ;  but  she  was  a  poor, 
forsaken  creature  that  nobody  cared  for.  And 

101 


102  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

then  the  expense :  she  should  die  in  an  almshouse, 
she  knew  she  should.  * 

"  Then  you  will  be  happier  than  a  great  many 
of  your  persuasion,  madam,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  Better  die  in  an  almshouse  than  in  jail  or  on 
the  scaffold,  as  so  many  are  doing  just  now." 

My  lady  was  silent  at  this,  and  I  saw  her  glance 
at  me. 

"  I  should  not  think  such  severity  would  help 
to  make  his  Majesty  popular,"  observed  Mr.  An- 
drews, who  had  come  in  with  Bab  to  give  us  a 
call. 

"It  does  not,"  said  the  doctor,  who  is  much 
about  the  court,  and  who  is,  in  fact,  one  of  those 
who  attended  his  late  Majesty  in  his  last  illness. 
"  But  I  do  not  think  the  king  cares  to  be  liked  as 
his  brother  did ;  he  would  rather  be  feared.  I 
dread,  sir,  we  shall  see  great  troubles  and  changes 
before  many  years  are  past." 

"  There,  don't  talk  about  it,"  said  my  lady  hastily  : 
"  it  is  not  safe ;  "  and  she  began  to  ask  Mr.  An- 
drews about  the  credit  of  somebody  in  the  city  who 
owes  her  money.  But  the  fright  did  her  good, 
and  she  behaved  much  better  afterward. 

I  had  one  comfort  in  a  letter  from  Mr.  Morley, 
sent  me  by  a  private  hand.  It  was  kindly  writ, 
as  usual,  but  says  nothing  of  public  affairs.  One 
thing  I  am  resolved  on :  I  will  never  give  him 
another  private  meeting. 

Well,  Mrs.  Williams  was  about  again,  and  things 
had  fallen  into  their  usual  course.    I  had  been  out 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  103 

to  do  an  errand  for  my  mistress,  and  she  had 
given  me  leave  to  make  Bab  Andrews  a  little  visit. 
Bab  was  not  at  home,  and  I  was  turning  from  the 
door,  when  I  met  Mary  Mathews. 

u  You  are  to  come  home  directly,  Mrs.  Dolly," 
said  she,  quite  breathless  with  her  haste.  "  My 
lady  sent  me  for  you,  and  desires  you  will  make 
no  delay." 

"Why,  what  now?"  said  I.  "Hath  my  lady 
taken  a  fit  again  ?  " 

"  Not  so ;  but  there  is  a  lady  come  to  see  j^ou," 
said  Mary.  "  She  is  sitting  in  the  withdra wing- 
room  with  mistress-." 

"  In  the  withdrawing-room ! "  I  repeated,  in 
wonder,  knowing  that  my  lady  never  enters  that 
room  if  she  can  help  it.  "  Did  you  see  the  lady  ? 
Is  it  my  Lady  Clarenham  ?  " 

"  The  lady  who  came  to  see  you  before  ?  No ; 
but  a  much  handsomer  lady,  and  very  richly 
dressed.  I  think  my  mistress  called  her  Lady 
Fullham,  but  I  am  not  sure." 

"  Fullham  ?  I  have  heard  that  name  somewhere, 
but  I  can't  tell  where,"  said  I ;  but  I  had  not  much 
time  to  speculate  thereon,  for  we  were  already  at 
the  house.  I  made  myself  neat,  taking  very  little 
time  about  it,  for  I  was  running  over  with  curiosity. 

As  I  entered  the  room,  I  found  myself  face  to 
face  with  a  handsome  lady,  a  little  past  the  prime 
of  life,  very  richly  dressed,  but  in  a  sober,  matron- 
ly fashion.  There  was  something  oddly  familiar 
in  her  face,  too." 


104  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

"This  is  Mrs.  Dorothy  Corbet,  madam,"  said 
my  mistress,  taking  me  by  the  hand  to  present 
me,  as  if  I  had  been  a  daughter  of  her  own,  a 
thing  she  never  did  before.  "  Dolly,  this  lady  is 
Lady  Fullham,  who  has  come  to  see  you  on  an 
important  matter." 

I  can't  tell  how  many  or  what  wild  notions 
darted  through  my  mind.  The  chief  was  the 
wonder  whether  this  lady  were  not  some  friend  or 
relation  of  Mr.  Morley's  to  whom  he  had  recom- 
mended me,  as  I  remember  he  once  spoke  of 
doing.  I  was  soon  undeceived,  and  in  a  surpris- 
ing way. 

"  Come  hither,  and  speak  to  me,  my  child," 
said  the  lady,  after  she  had,  as  it  seemed  to  me, 
looked  me  all  over  in  a  moment  with  her  keen 
dark  eyes.  "  I  am  your  mother's  own  sister  and 
your  aunt." 

The  room  did  seem  to  turn  round  with  me  at 
these  words.  My  mother  never  spoke  of  her  own 
family,  who  were  bitterly  opposed  to  her  marrying 
a  soldier  and  a  poor  man.  She  did  say  on  her 
death-bed,  "  Dolly,  you  were  named  for  your  aunt, 
my  only  sister.  If  you  ever  have  a  chance,  make 
friends  with  her,  and  give  my  love  to  her.  I  am 
sorry  now  that  I  have  never  written  to  her, 
though  I  shall  never  regret  my  marriage." 

I  recovered  myself  as  quickly  as  I  could, 
courtesied  deeply,  and  received  my  new  aunt's 
kiss,  but  in  silence,  for  I  literally  could  not 
speak. 


Mrs,  SUidley's  Diary,  105 


"  You  did  not  know  you  had  such  a  relation,  I 
suppose,"  said  my  aunt. 

"  No,  madam  —  yes,  madam,"  I  faltered,  like  a 
fool ;  and  then,  making  a  great  effort,  "  My  mother 
told  me  on  her  death-bed  that  I  was  named  for 
you.    It  was  almost  the  last  word  she  said." 

"  And  why  did  not  you  or  your  guardians  let 
me  know,  child?"  she  asked,  rather  sharply;  and 
then,  more  gently,  "  But  I  dare  say  you  did  not 
know  where  to  write.  My  father  forbade  my  hold- 
ing any  intercourse  with  my  poor,  unhappj^  sister, 
and  perhaps  we  obeyed  him  too  literally ;  and 
after  I  had  daughters  of  mine  own —  However, 
that  does  not  matter  now." 

"I  will  leave  you  to  yourselves  for  a  while," 
said  my  lady,  rising.  I  gave  her  my  arm  to  her 
own  room,  and  returned  to  my  new  aunt,  whom  I 
found  viewing  the  pictures  and  ornaments  with  a 
critical  eye. 

"  This  room  is  very  handsomely  furnished,  though 
a  little  out  of  date,"  said  she.  "  I  should  hardly 
have  expected  such  taste  in  a  city  woman,  as  I 
understand  Lady  Corbet  to  have  been  before  her 
last  husband  married  her." 

I  told  her  the  room  had  been  fitted  up  by  Lady 
Jemima,  my  cousin's  first  wife,  and  was,  I  believed, 
just  as  she  left  it. 

"  Oh,  that  accounts  for  it !  "  said  she.  "  Lady 
Jemima  was  of  an  excellent  old  family." 

(I  wonder  does  being  of  an  old  family  give 
one  an  infallible  taste.    I  suppose,  as  Mr.  Pen- 


106  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or. 


dergast  says,  one  family  is  really  about  as  old  as 
another.) 

Then  my  aunt  had  me  sit  down  by  her,  and 
began  to  catechise  me  rather  sharply,  but  not  un- 
kindly, about  my  mother  and  her  affairs.  She 
was  visibly  touched  when  I  told  her  of  my 
mother's  troubles  and  death ;  and,  when  I  could 
not  forbear  weeping,  she  called  me  "poor  child," 
and  gave  me  her  own  smelling-bottle. 

"  Well,  well,  I  would  I  had  known  I "  said  she  : 
"  I  would  never  have  left  her  to  die  among  stran- 
gers. But  my  first  husband  hated  London,  and 
would  never  come  hither;  and  Sir  Robert  is  not 
much  better/'  Then  she  began  to  ask  me  about 
my  education,  and  I  answered  her  frankly.  Final- 
ly she  asked  if  my  lady  was  kind  to  me. 

u  Please  excuse  me  from  answering  that  ques- 
tion, madam,"  said  I.  "  My  mistress  gave  me  a 
home  when  I  had  nowhere  to  go,  and  it  would  ill 
become  me  to  accuse  her." 

My  aunt  looked  displeased  for  a  moment,  and 
then  her  brow  cleared. 

"  You  are  right,  child,  and  your  words  show  a 
ladylike  spirit.  One  can  see  }rou  are  of  gentle 
blood.  Now  go  and  ask  Lady  Corbet  if  she  will 
give  me  the  favor  of  an  interview  to-morrow.  I 
will  not  ask  to  see  her  again  to-day,  as  she  seems 
but  feeble ;  and,  beside,  I  want  a  little  time  to 
consider." 

I  went  up  to  my  mistress,  who  fixed  ten  of  the 
clock  for  receiving  my  aunt.     (How  strange  it 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary.  107 


seems  to  write  the  word !)  I  told  my  aunt,  who 
said  she  would  come  at  that  hour. 

"  By  the  way,  child,  I  hope  you  are  not  a  Pres- 
byterian, as  I  hear  these  people  are,"  said  she,  as 
she  was  going  away. 

"No,  madam,"  I  answered;  "I  was  brought  up 
in  the  Church  of  England." 

a  That  is  well,"  said  she.  "  They  are  a  pestilent 
set  of  traitors,  as  the  late  unhappy  outbreak  hath 
shown." 

I  could  not  quite  stand  this.  "  Not  all,  madam," 
said  I.  "  I  have  not  heard  a  single  Presbyterian 
speak  of  the  late  rebellion  but  with  regret  and 
abhorrence." 

"Don't  answer  me  back,  child,"  said  my  aunt 
sharply.  "Your  mother  should  have  taught  you 
better  than  that.  There,  I  am  not  angry,  but 
don't  do  it  again." 

She  kissed  me,  and  I  attended  her  to  the  door. 
She  had  a  fine  coach  and  two  men.  I  think  she 
must  be  very  rich.  How  odd  if  she  should  take 
a  fancy  to  adopt  me !  But  that  is  not  likely,  as 
she  tells  me  she  hath  two  daughters  of  her  own. 

August  3 

But  unlikely  things  do  happen.  Lady  Fullham 
came  again  next  day,  and  was  closeted  with  my 
mistress  full  two  hours.  I  expected  every  moment 
to  be  sent  for,  but  no  message  came ;  and  by  and 
by  I  saw  my  aunt  drive  away.  Every  thing  went 
on  as  usual  till  after  dinner,  when  my  lady  called 
me  to  her  side,  and  bade  me  sit  down. 


108 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


"  So  I  am  to  lose  you,  Dolly,  it  seems,"  said 
she.  "  This  fine  country  lady  desires  to  adopt 
you  into  her  own  family,  and  to  give  you  a  home 
and  all  the  privileges  of  a  daughter ;  and  of  course 
she  has  the  best  right  to  you,  as  your  mother's 
sister.'' 

"  Methinks  her  mother's  sister  was  somewhat 
slow  in  asserting  her  right,"  remarked  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams, who  was  knitting,  as  usual,  and  with  that 
peculiar  click  of  her  needles  which  always  indi- 
cates displeasure  with  her. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Williams,"  retorted  my 
mistress.  "  Lady  Fullham  did  not  know  of  her 
niece's  existence." 

"  Then  she  might  have  known,"  said  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams, who  is  not  easily  put  down.  "  She  could 
have  asked,  I  presume." 

"  Will  you  be  quiet  ?  "  said  my  lady.  "  You  see, 
Dolly,  the  doctor  says  I  must  go  to  the  Bath  and 
stay  several  months,  and  that  makes  it  needful  to 
shut  up  the  house.  I  can't  afford  to  keep  two 
establishments,  nor  could  you  stay  here  alone." 

"  There  would  be  no  need  of  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Williams.  "  Mrs.  Dolly  could  go  with  us  to  the 
Bath.  I  am  sure  you  will  need  her  quite  as  much 
there  as  here." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Williams!"  This  is  her 
regular  retort,  and  Mrs.  Williams  cares  for  it  as 
much  as  for  the  sparrows'  chirping  outside.  "  It 
would  increase  my  expenses  very  greatly  to  carry 
Dolly  with  me,  and  that  is  what  I  cannot  afford. 


Mrs.  Studley%$  Diary. 


109 


I  am  like  to  be  driven  to  beggary  as  it  is,  with  all 
this  journeying  and  expense." 

Mrs.  Williams's  needles  rattled  like  a  soldier's 
equipments,  and  her  chin  went  up  in  the  air  with 
its  own  peculiar  toss.    My  lady  continued,  — 

44  Besides,  my  Lady  Fullham,  being  own  sister  to 
Dolly's  mother,  has  the  best  right  to  her.  She 
is  wealthy,  and  can  take  her  into  society,  and  give 
her  many  advantages." 

"  She  can"  said  Mrs.  Williams.  "  The  question 
is,  whether  she  will  " 

"She  says  she  intends  to  place  Dolly  on  the 
same  footing  as  her  own  daughters,"  returned  my 
lady.  44  Those  were  her  very  words,  fc  On  the  same 
footing  as  my  own  daughters,  in  every  respect.'  — 
What  do  you  say  to  that,  chick  ?  " 

44  My  aunt  is  very  kind,"  said  I.  44  I  must  say 
that  it  is  pleasant  to  me  to  think  that  I  have  some 
relations.  1  have  been  so  alone  in  the  world 
hitherto." 

44  Better  kind  strangers  than  strange  kin," 
snapped  Mrs.  Williams. 

44  Perhaps  Dolly  thinks  she  has  not  found  the 
kind  strangers,"  said  my  lady. 

4fc  Oh,  yes !  I  have  had  a  great  deal  of  kindness 
from  strangers,"  said  I.  44  Nobody  ever  had  a 
better  friend  than  Mrs.  Williams  has  been  to  me." 
And  in  something  of  my  old  impulsive  fashion,  I 
threw  my  arms  round  the  dear  old  woman's  neck, 
and  gave  her  a  good  hug,  thereby  causing  great 
damage  to  the  knitting.    Mrs.  Williams  returned 


110  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


my  kiss ;  and  then,  gathering  up  her  work,  she  left 
the  room. 

"  Williams,  where  are  you  going?  Come  back," 
cried  my  lady  ;  but  Mrs.  Williams  only  said  she 
would  come  back  presently,  and  closed  the  door 
after  her.  When  she  did  come  back,  I  saw  that 
she  had  been  weeping. 

"  Well,  now,  if  you  have  done  with  your  play- 
acting, you  and  Williams,  perhaps  you  will  listen 
to  sense,"  said  my  lady  peevishly.  "  Lady  Fullham 
and  I  have  settled  it  all  between  us.  Dolly  is  to 
go  to  her  on  Monday." 

"  That  is  very  short  notice,  seeing  that  this  is 
Friday,"  observed  Mrs.  Williams.  "Mrs.  Dolly 
will  have  no  time  to  get  her  clothes  ready ;  and 
she  needs  new  under-linen,  stays,  and  gloves,  and 
what  not." 

"  There  you  are  quite  mistaken,"  said  my  mis- 
tress triumphantly.  "  Lady  Fullham  expressly 
said  Dolly  was  to  bring  nothing  with  her  but  the 
most  necessary  clothes.  She  preferred  to  provide 
every  thing  herself.  —  So,  you  see,  Dolly,  you  need 
not  take  the  blue  silk  gown  I  gave  you,  nor  the 
cloth  mantle.  They  will  do  for  some  one  else,  if 
ever  I  have  another  in  your  place,  which  I  doubt." 

"But,  my  lady,  I  have  nothing  else  to  wear, — 
not  a  decent  thing,"  I  faltered,  somewhat  aghast. 

"  To  be  sure  you  have  not,"  said  Mrs.  Williams 
decidedly.  "  I  presume  the  lady  did  not  want  her 
niece  to  come  to  her  like  a  beggar-wench  from  the 
Bridewell ;  nor  would  you,  my  lady,  like  to  be 


Mrs.  Studley^s  Diary.  Ill 


thought  so  mean  and  stingy  as  to  send  her  out  in 
that  guise.  You  would  not  like  to  have  this  fine 
lady  telling  every  one  of  her  acquaintance  that 
Lady  Corbet  was  too  mean  to  give  her  gentle- 
woman decent  clothes." 

Now,  if  there  be  one  thing  that  my  lady  cares 
more  for  than  for  her  money,  it  is  what  people  say 
about  her. 

"  Of  course  not,  of  course  not.  I  am  only  tell- 
ing you  what  the  lady  said.  Of  course,  Dolly  will 
take  with  her  what  clothes  she  has  already.  All 
I  mean  is,  that  she  need  not  wait  to  buy  any  more. 
—  There,  go  away  now,  Dolly,  and  let  me  have  a 
rest.  You  can  be  putting  your  things  in  order,  if 
they  need  it." 

But  they  do  not  need  it.  Thanks  to  my  dear 
mother's  lessons,  followed  up  b}^  Mrs.  Williams's, 
I  have  the  fixed  habit  of  mending  my  clothes  as 
they  want  it.  I  almost  wish  I  had  something  to 
do  to  pass  away  the  time. 

To  think  that,  after  almost  three  years  of  slavery, 
—  waiting  on  my  lady's  whims,  and  wearing  out 
my  ejTes  and  fingers  in  everlasting  seaming  and 
stitching,  and  my  throat  in  reading  stupid  books 
of  divinity  that  I  could  never  make  head  nor  tail 
of,  —  after  all,  I  am  really  to  be  a  young  lady, 
and  take  my  place  as  such  in  my  aunt's  family.  I 
hope  I  shall  be  able  to  content  her.  She  seems 
like  one  who  would  be  mighty  particular.  I  can 
see  that  she  thinks  a  great  deal  of  birth  and  fam- 
ily.   Well,  mine  ought  to  be  good  enough  to  suit 


112  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


her,  one  would  think.  My  mother  was  her  own 
sister,  and  my  father  was  related  not  distantly, 
though  I  don't  know  just  how,  to  the  old  Corbet 
family  in  Devonshire  and  Cornwall.  Sir  Charles 
told  me  about  it  once,  —  that  is,  he  began  to  tell 
me,  but  my  lady,  who  never  could  endure  to  have 
him  speak  to  me,  came  down  on  us  like  a  dragon. 
Alas  !  poor  man.  He  was  very  good  to  me.  I 
have  been  looking  at  his  last  gift,  which  I  always 
wear  about  my  neck.  It  is  egg-shaped,  about 
as  large  as  a  small  pigeon's  egg,  and  there  is 
something  inside  which  rattles  a  little.  I  cannot 
see  any  way  to  open  it,  but  then  I  would  not  do 
so  if  I  could,  —  at  least  I  think  not. 

There  is  one  thought  that  troubles  me  a  good 
deal.  How  shall  I  ever  see  or  hear  from  Mr.  Mor- 
ley  ?  He  can  come  to  visit  my  lady,  and  I  can  at 
least  see  him  and  hear  him  talk,  and  now  and  then 
get  a  few  words  to  myself.  As  to  meeting  him  in 
the  park  again,  I  have  solemnly  resolved  not  to 
do  that.  But  he  is  not  in  London,  nor  like  to  be 
for  a  long  time,  and  then  his  regiment  is  stationed 
in  the  west.  My  uncle  and  aunt  live  not  very  far 
from  Exeter,  and  perchance  we  may  meet.  But 
my  aunt  is  not  going  down  to  the  west  at  present. 
She  has  taken  a  furnished  house,  and  means  to  re- 
main at  least  till  some  time  in  September,  that  her 
daughters  may  have  lessons  in  drawing  and  music. 
I  wonder  if  I  shall  have  them  as  well.  I  do  love 
music  dearly,  but  I  have  not  touched  an  instru- 
~  ment  since  I  came  to  this  house.    There  is  a 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary.  113 


harpsichord  down-stairs,  but  it  is  locked  and  the 
key  lost.    Beside  that,  my  mistress  hates  music. 

I  can't  pretend  to  say  that  I  am  sorry  to  leave 
her.  She  has  never  been  kind  to  me,  except  when 
she  was  afraid  of  me;  and  she  is  one  of  those  peo- 
ple who  delight  to  wreak  their  own  discomforts  on 
other  people.  So  sure  as  money  hath  not  come  in 
when  she  expected  it,  or  her  supper  hath  disagreed 
with  her,  or  she  hath  had  an  argument  with  Mr. 
Pendergast  about  giving  something  (and  he  is 
not  afraid  of  her,  whoever  else  is),  just  so  surety 
my  ears  and  shoulders  have  had  to  pay  the  piper. 
And  one  never  can  tell  when  she  will  break  out. 
It  is  like  living  with  some  treacherous  wild  ani- 
mal. And  I  don't  think  I  owe  her  any  debt  of 
gratitude  for  my  board  and  clothes,  either.  Mrs. 
Williams  herself  told  my  mistress  that  I  earned 
all  I  had,  and  more  too ;  and  she  is  one  who  never 
exaggerates,  as  I  know  I  do  sometimes. 

I  am  sorry  to  leave  Mrs.  Williams.  A  better 
woman  never  lived  or  breathed,  as  I  believe  I  have 
said  two  or  three  times  before,  but  I  don't  care. 
She  is  desperately  strict  in  her  notions,  and  thinks 
every  thing  in  the  shape  of  amusement  is  wrong, 
except  it  may  be  a  walk  now  and  then,  or  some 
kind  of  fanciful  knitting.  She  would  not  even 
have  psalms  sung  in  church.  And  when  Mr. 
Pendergast  asked  her  how  she  got  along  with 
King  David's  singers  and  instruments,  she  said 
tartly,  "That  was  under  the  old  dispensation  and 
not  any  rule  for  Christians."    Then  he  fell  upon 


114  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


her  with  St.  James,  his  words,  uIs  any  merry? 
Let  him  sing  psalms."  But  she  answered  more 
sharply  still,  that  she  read  her  Bible  by  the  light 
within,  and  that  these  words  had  a  spiritual  sig- 
nificance. 

"  But  suppose  my  inward  illumination  shows 
me  something  quite  different  from  yours,  what 
then?"  asked  Mr.  Pendergast,  whereat  she  was 
silent.  They  are  always  very  good  friends,  despite 
their  arguments.  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  ever  see 
any  of  them  again,  and  that  I  do  regret.  I  won- 
der whether  my  aunt  will  let  me  visit  Bab  An- 
drews. I  shall  be  sorry  if  she  does  not,  for  I  love 
her  dearly.    I  must  try  to  see  her  to-morrow. 

August  10. 

I  have  been  an  inmate  of  my  aunt's  family  a 
week,  and  this  is  the  very  first  minute  I  have 
had  to  write.  Somehow  we  never  seem  to  have 
any  time  to  ourselves.  Even  for  our  hours  of  re- 
tirement and  devotion,  which  are  strictly  set  apart 
every  day,  my  aunt  appoints  our  tasks  of  reading ; 
and  we  must  give  her  an  account  of  what  we  have 
read.  However,  she  does  leave  us  alone  at  sucli 
times ;  and,  as  I  am  a  rapid  reader  and  have  a 
good  memory,  I  hope  I  may  now  and  then  have  a 
few  minutes. 

I  was  all  ready  on  Monday  morning  when  my 
aunt's  carriage  came  for  me ;  and  it  was  with  a 
strange  feeling  of  acting  in  a  dream  that  I  took 
my  seat  in  it,  beside  a  somewhat  sharp-visaged 


Mrs..  Studley's  Diary.  115 


person  who  I  learned  was  my  cousins'  waiting- 
woman.  I  was  no  sooner  seated  beside  her  than  she 
began  to  arrange  my  kerchief  and  bodice,  telling 
me  that  I  was  not  dressed  snug  enough. 

"  But  we  shall  soon  change  all  that,"  said  she. 
"  Is  your  health  pretty  good,  Mrs.  Dorothy  ?  You 
are  rather  pale." 

I  told  her  that  it  was  my  natural  complexion  $ 
that  I  had  never  been  ill  more  than  two  or  three 
times  in  my  life,  and  then  not  seriously. 

"  Are  not  my  cousins  healthy  ?  "  I  ventured  to 
ask. 

"  Mrs.  Betty  is  well,  Mrs.  Margaret  is  rather 
delicate,"  was  the  reply. 

I  asked  how  old  they  were,  and  she  told  me  that 
Margaret  was  eighteen  and  Betty  sixteen. 

"  Then  I  am  just  between  them,  for  I  am  seven- 
teen," said  I.  At  that  moment  I  saw  Bab  Andrews 
coming  out  at  her  father's  door,  and  nodded  to  her. 

"You  must  never  do  that  when  my  mistress 
sees  you,"  was  the  comment  my  companion  made. 
"  She  would  be  very  angry." 

"  But  why  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Mr.  Andrews  is  a  very 
wealthy  and  good  man,  and  his  daughter  is  lovely. 
Did  you  not  think  her  nice  looking  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  hath  a  nice  face  and  air,"  said  Mrs. 
Sharpless.  (Such  was  the  waiting-woman's  name, 
she  told  me.)  "  But  if  she  were  an  angel  from 
heaven,  it  would  make  no  difference.  My  mistress 
will  have  her  young  people  make  no  friends  out  of 
her  own  circle." 


116  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


I  felt  rather  dashed  at  this,  and  I  dare  say  I 
showed  it.  Mrs.  Sharpless  turned  to  me,  and  put 
her  hand  on  my  arm. 

"  Mrs.  Dorothy,  though  it  is  not  my  place  per- 
haps, I  am  going  to  give  you  a  bit  of  advice,"  said 
she  impressively.  "  You  are  but  a  young  thing, 
and  are  coming  into  a  new  place.  Now,  mind 
what  I  say.  If  you  would  get  on  smoothly  and 
comfortably,  you  must  make  up  your  mind  to 
have  no  will  of  your  own,  but  to  be  governed  by 
my  mistress  your  aunt  in  all  things.  '  Tis  the 
only  way." 

I  told  her  I  hoped  I  knew  my  duty  too  well  not 
to  be  submissive  to  my  aunt,  who  was  so  kind  as 
to  adopt  me. 

"  Why,  aye,  you  seem  a  towardly  young  lady, 
and  well-bred ;  and  I  am  glad  your  cousins  will 
have  a  companion  of  their  own  age,  poor  things  ! 
Well,  here  we  are." 

It  was  with  no  little  trepidation  that  I  found 
myself  ushered  into  my  aunt's  presence.  She  was 
sitting  in  her  own  parlor,  surrounded  by  heaps  of 
silk  and  linen,  laces  and  other  things  of  the  sort ; 
and  a  man  was  in  attendance  with  more  bundles 
still.  My  aunt  received  me  kindly,  and  kissed  my 
cheek. 

"You  may  carry  Mrs.  Dorothy  to  her  cousins' 
room,  and  tell  them  from  me  they  may  have  a 
holiday  till  dinner  to  get  acquainted  with  their 
cousin.  And  do  you  unpack  her  mail,  and  lay  out 
her  things  upon  the  bed,  that  I  may  look  them 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


117 


over.  We  must  put  her  wardrobe  in  hand  directly, 
that  she  may  be  decent  to  go  out  with  me." 

Mrs.  Sharpless  courtesied,  and  led  me  upstairs, 
and  along  a  passage  to  a  green  door  covered 
with  cloth.  This  she  opened,  knocking  first,  and 
ushered  me  into  a  somewhat  bare  room,  where  two 
young  ladies  were  sitting,  —  one  at  her  book,  the 
other  at  the  harpsichord  wdiere  she  was  making 
terrible  work  of  her  scales.  They  both  looked 
round  as  we  entered,  but  neither  stirred  till  Mrs. 
Sharpless  said,  — 

"Mrs.  Margaret  and  Mrs.  Betty,  this  is  your 
cousin  Mrs.  Dorothy  Corbet,  with  whom  your 
mother  desires  you  to  become  acquainted ;  and  to 
that  end  she  gives  you  a  holiday  till  dinner-time. 
—  I  will  go  and  lay  out  your  things,  Mrs.  Dorothy, 
and  then  come  and  show  you  your  bedroom." 

Margaret  and  Betty  came  forward  and  kissed 
me,  rather  coolly  I  thought ;  and  there  was  a  min- 
ute or  two  of  awkward  silence,  which  Betty  broke 
by  asking  in  a  business-like  way,  — 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  become  acquainted,  since 
that  is  the  order? " 

"  Betty  !  "  said  Margaret  warningly. 

"  Because  I  don't  know  how,"  said  I,  laughing 
in  spite  of  myself.  "  At  school,  when  new  girls 
came  in,  we  used  to  get  acquainted  by  asking 
their  names  and  histories ;  but  I  dare  say  you  know 
all  that." 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  mother  was  pleased  to  inform  us 
that  we  had  a  new  cousin  who  would  share  our 


118 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or. 


studies  and  pleasures  !  "  Betty  laid  an  emphasis 
on  this  last  word,  which  was  almost  bitter  I 
thought.  "  And  I  suppose  she  told  you  all  about 
us/' 

"Not  very  much,"  I  answered.  "Mrs.  Sharp- 
less  told  me  that  Margaret  was  the  elder,  and  that 
she  was  not  very  strong." 

"  Are  you?  "  asked  Betty.    I  told  her  yes. 

"  So  much  the  better  for  you,"  said  she  shortly, 
and  then  she  began  to  ask  me  about  my  accom- 
plishments. Could  I  sing  ?  Could  I  play  ?  I 
told  her  I  could  do  both. 

"  I  am  glad  on't;  that  is,  if  you  play  well,"  said 
Betty.  "  Meg  loves  music,  and  she  will  have 
something  to  listen  to  beside  my  horrible  strum- 
ming." 

"  And  do  you  play  ?  "  I  asked,  turning  to  Mar- 
garet, who,  in  as  careless  an  attitude  as  her  stiff 
chair  would  permit,  was  looking  at  us  with  soft, 
wistful,  dark  eyes,  which  reminded  me  somehow 
of  Bab  Andrews's  dog. 

"Yes,  but  not  very  well,"  said  she.  "But  I  am 
glad  you  can  play,  cousin  Dorothy.  Try  some- 
thing now." 

"  I  am  not  sure  I  can  remember  any  thing,"  said 
I.  "  I  have  not  touched  a  harpsichord  in  three 
years."  However,  I  did  make  out  to  play  one  of 
my  old  lessons,  and  then  I  sang  a  song  out  of  one 
of  Mr.  Shakspeare's  plays,  "  Hark !  the  lark  at 
heaven's  gate  sings." 

It  was  always  a  favorite  of  mine,  and  T  was  so 


Mrs.  Studley  s  I?iary. 


119 


glad  to  sing  and  play  OTice  more,  that  I  did 
my  very  best.  Margaret  sprang  up  from  her  chair 
and  came  and  stood  by  me.  As  I  ceased  and 
looked  up,  I  saw  that  her  color  was  deepened, 
and  there  were  tears  in  her  bright,  soft  eyes.  Be- 
fore I  had  time  to  speak,  Mrs.  Sharpless  came  and 
called  me ;  but,  as  I  rose  from  the  music-stool, 
Betty  caught  my  hand,  and  gave  it  a  squeeze. 

"  You  have  made  Meg  happy,"  said  she.  "I 
shall  love  you  if  you  can  do  that." 

"And  I  am  sine  I  shall  love  you,"  I  began  to 
say;  but  Mrs.  Sharpless  hurried  me  away,  saying 
that  m}^  aunt  was  waiting.  My  heart  sank  fath- 
oms deep  as  I  suddenly  remembered  my  precious 
writing-books,  and  thought  of  their  meeting  my 
aunt's  eye.  When  I  entered  the  room  which  was 
to  be  mine,  however,  I  saw  no  trace  of  them,  and 
my  aunt  was  as  kind  as  ever. 

"  I  have  been  looking  over  your  things,  Dorothy," 
said  she,  "and  I  am  pleased  with  the  order  in 
which  you  have  kept  them.  It  shows  that  you 
are  neat,  and  clever  with  your  needle.  I  see  you 
have  a  Bible  and  Prayer-Book:  that  is  well.  But 
why  are  you  so  pleased  ?  " 

For  I  had  caught  up  the  Prayer-Book  with  a 
little  cry  of  joy.  It  was  my  dear  mother's  gift, 
which  my  mistress  had  taken  away  from  me  when 
I  first  went  to  live  with  her.  I  explained  the  mat- 
ter to  my  aunt.    She  nodded. 

"Just  what  one  would  expect  such  a  person  to 
do,"  was  her  comment. 


120  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


Now,  I  don't  believe  my  mistress's  religion  had 
the  least  thing  to  do  with  her  taking  away  my 
Prayer-Book.  I  don't  believe  Mr.  Pendergast 
would  have  done  it,  or  poor  dear  Mr.  Baxter, 
though  he  did  use  to  send  me  such  dreary,  uncom- 
fortable books  to  read.  It  was  just  a  piece  of  my 
lady's  spite,  like  her  forbidding  Mrs.  Williams  to 
knit,  because  it  gave  her  the  fidgets  to  see  and 
hear  the  needles.  Marry,  she  soon  grew  tired  of 
that.  But  1  had  learned  already  not  to  argue 
with  my  aunt. 

"  But  you  must  have  a  new  book  to  carry  to 
church,"  said  she.  "  My  daughters  attend  church 
every  morning  at  eight,  and  I  shall  expect  you  to 
go  with  them.  Is  this  old-fashioned  silk  your  best 
dress?" 

"Yes,  madam." 

"  And  who  made  it." 

I  told  her  I  had  made  it  myself  out  of  an  old 
one  of  my  Lady  Jem's. 

"  Well,  well !  It  is  neatly  done  and  does  you 
credit,  but  you  must  have  two  or  three  new  ones 
made  in  the  fashion.  I  dare  say  your  mistress  did 
not  care  much  for  that.  But  remember  it  is  a 
duty  we  owe  to  the  world,  to  dress  becomingly  to 
our  stations.  There,  now,  j^ou  may  go  back  to  the 
schoolroom,  and  Sharpless  will  arrange  your 
drawers  for  you.  She  is  your  cousins'  attendant, 
and  will  be  yours  as  well." 

Mrs.  Sharpless  followed  me  into  the  passage 
with  my  handkerchief;  as  she  gave  it  into  my 
hands,  she  said  in  a  low  tone,  — 


Mrs.  Studley^s  Diary. 


121 


"  Your  copy-books  are  on  the  high  shelf  in  your 
closet  behind  the  books,  Mrs.  Dolly.  It  is  a  good 
place  for  them,  and  you  might  as  well  leave  them 
there." 

I  nodded  assent,  well  pleased  for  the  moment  to 
think  they  had  escaped  my  aunt's  eye.  But,  when 
1  had  a  little  time  to  think,  I  must  say  that  I 
was  not  pleased  to  think  this  waiting-woman  should 
have  my  secret  in  her  hands.  She  seems  a  good 
woman,  and  very  devoted  to  her  young  ladies, 
especially  to  Meg ;  and  it  was  kind  of  her  to  save 
me  from  being  disgraced  with  my  aunt,  and  per- 
haps sent  back  on  my  mistress's  hands.  Oh,  dear, 
I  almost  wish  at  times  that  I  had  never  seen  Mr. 
Morley,  and  yet!  —  But  be  as  it  may,  there  is  no 
use  in  wishing  things  undone. 

We  dined  at  noon,  as  the  fashion  is  now ;  and, 
being  used  to  have  my  meal  an  hour  earlier,  I  was 
hungry  enough.  The  table  was  beautifully  set 
out,  and  the  dinner  elegantly  cooked  and  served. 
But  I  can't  say  I  enjoyed  it  very  much.  My 
aunt  seemed  to  watch  every  motion  and  every 
mouthful.    It  was,  — 

"  Betty,  where  are  your  elbows  ?  " 

"  Margaret,  hold  your  fork  more  easily.  There, 
now,  you  have  dropped  it,"  as  poor  Meg,  startled, 
let  her  fork  fall  with  a  great  clatter.  "One  would 
think  you  had  lived  in  Wales  or  some  other  place 
where  forks  have  not  yet  come  into  fashion." 

And  so  on  to  the  end  of  the  dinner.  I  noticed 
that  my  cousins  ate  very  little  ;  but,  as  for  me,  I 


122  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


made  a  good  meal.  After  dinner  we  were  dis- 
missed to  dress  for  going  out  with  my  aunt.  Meg 
is  about  my  height :  so  I  was  arrayed  in  one  of  her 
dresses,  which  was  almost  too  small  for  me,  slen- 
der as  I  am.  But  by  dint  of  twitching  my  stay- 
laces  so  tight  that  I  could  hardly  breathe,  Mrs. 
Sharpless  got  it  on. 

"  Oh,  dear,  I  can  never  breathe  in  this  ! "  said  I. 

"  You  must  get  used  to  it,"  said  Betty.  "Strait- 
jackets  are  the  fashion  here,  as  well  as  in  Bedlam. 
You  ought  to  be  used  to  strait-lacing,  Dorothy, 
living  among  Presbyterians  so  long." 

"  That  is  a  different  kind  of  lacing,"  I  answered. 
"I  have  never  been  used  to  dress  tight.  My 
mother  and  Mrs.  Williams  thought  it  very  un- 
wholesome." 

"And  they  are  right.  It  is  murderous,"  said 
Betty. 

"Hush,  Mrs.  Betty,  you  must  not  speak  so," 
said  Mrs.  Sharpless,  but  not  unkindly.  "You 
don't  think  your  mother  would  do  any  thing  mur- 
derous, do  you?" 

"  She  would  not  mean  to,"  said  Betty,  and  that 
was  the  end  of  the  matter. 

My  aunt  carried  Betty  and  myself  to  the  park 
in  her  fine  coach,  to  take  the  air  among  the  great 
folks ;  but  I  don't  think  there  were  as  many  gay 
equipages  as  used  to  be  in  the  old  king's  time. 
My  Lady  Castlemain  was  there,  sulky  and  hand- 
some, lolling  back  in  her  carriage ;  but  I  did  not 
see  anybody  take  much  notice  of  her.    My  aunt 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary. 


123 


seemed  to  have  many  grand  acquaintances,  and 
even  exchanged  a  few  words  with  the  king  him- 
self. I  think  he  looks  more  gloomy  than  ever.  I 
was  presented  to  the  Countess  of  Sunderland,  who 
had  just  stopped  to  take  up  Mr.  Evelyn.  He  rec- 
ognized me  in  a  moment,  and  kindly  asked  after 
my  health,  and  when  I  had  heard  from  my  friend. 
He  also  told  me  that  Mrs.  Patty,  my  little  school- 
friend,  had  gone  to  live  altogether  with  her 
great-aunt.  My  aunt  was  talking  to  my  Lady 
Sunderland  ;  but  as  soon  as  we  separated  she  turned 
and  asked  me,  rather  severely,  where  I  had  met 
Mr.  Evelyn,  and  who  he  was  talking  about.  I 
told  her  all  about  it ;  whereat  she  remarked  that 
Lady  Clarenham  was  a  woman  of  good  family, 
though  her  father  had  taken  the  wrong  side  in  the 
late  troubles,  and  that  every  one  respected  Mr. 
Evelyn. 

I  must  say  I  did  not  enjoy  the  drive.  My  stays 
hurt  me  so,  1  could  hardly  breathe ;  and  I  am  not 
enough  used  to  the  swinging  motion  of  a  coach  to 
like  it  even  yet.  Besides,  the  passing  of  the  places 
where  I  had  been  in  other  company  did  revive 
my  grief,  and  make  me  feel  more  than  ever  how 
hungry  1113-  heart  was  for  the  sight  of  the  dear  one. 

I  liked  it  better  when  we  went  to  the  shops, 
where  my  lady  bought  me  a  new  Prayer-Book  and 
some  other  books  of  devotions  and  meditations, 
and  a  beautiful  sewing-equipage  for  my  pocket, 
and  some  toilet  matters  whereof  I  really  did  stand 
in  need.    Betty  timidly  asked  if  she  might  buy  a 


124  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


little  flask  of  aromatic  vinegar  for  Meg,  saying 
that  it  was  good  for  her  headaches. 

"  Yes,  if  you  choose,  though  I  think  Meg's  head- 
aches are  mostly  of  the  imagination,"  said  my  lady. 
Betty's  cheek  flushed,  and  her  lips  were  pressed 
more  closely  together  ;  but  they  relaxed  a  little 
when  my  aunt  added  kindly,  "  But  I  am  pleased 
to  see  you  thoughtful  for  your  sister,  child.  Here, 
you  may  take  a  bottle  of  this  distilled  lavender, 
also  :  I  think  she  likes  it,  does  she  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam;"  answered  Betty,  and  her  face 
grew  softer  than  I  had  yet  seen  it. 

In  the  evening  my  lady  went  to  the  play,  with 
her  daughters.  I  was  left  behind  as  having  noth- 
ing to  wear,  and  I  was  not  sorry.  I  wanted  to 
get  off  my  dress  for  one  thing,  and  to  quiet  my 
head,  which  was  ail  in  a  whirl.  Certainly  it 
seemed  to  me  the  longest  day  of  my  life. 

After  I  had  practised  my  music  an  hour  with 
great  delight,  I  took  my  work  and  sat  down  by 
the  open  window,  for  it  was  very  warm.  The 
house  at  the  back  overlooks  some  fine  gardens,  so 
we  have  good  air.  I  was  sorry  when  Mrs.  Sharp- 
less  came  in  and  ordered  me  away,  saying  I  would 
take  cold.  I  think  I  would  like  to  be  a  gypsy  or 
a  farmer's  wife,  and  so  live  in  the  open  air. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  my  cousins  came  up  to 
their  room.  Margaret  looked  very  pale,  I  thought. 
They  were  no  sooner  inside  the  schoolroom,  than 
Betty  flew  at  her  sister,  undid  her  dress,  and 
unlaced  her  stays  so  quickly  that  the  silk  laces 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  125 

fairly  snapped.  Margaret  sank  down  in  a  chair 
with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Oh,  how  good  that  is  !  "  said  she ;  and  then 
she  put  her  arms  round  Betty's  neck,  and  her 
head  on  her  shoulder,  and  wept  hysterically.  I 
brought  the  flask  of  lavender- water,  and  bathed 
her  head,  and  held  my  hartshorn  salts  to  her  nose  ; 
but  nothing  did  any  good  till  Mrs.  Sharpless,  who 
had  come  in,  said  in  a  voice  of  kind  authority,  — 

"  Come,  come,  Mrs.  Margaret,  this  won't  do  at 
all !    Your  mother  will  hear  you." 

If  I  had  children,  I  would  not  like  to  be  held  up 
to  them  as  a  bugbear  or  a  bogy.  But  it  had  its 
effect  in  Margaret's  case.  She  checked  her  sobs 
with  a  great  effort. 

"I  won't  be  so  silly,"  said  she,  with  a  pitiful 
smile.    "  Dorothy  will  think  me  a  baby." 

"  Dorothy  knows  what  it  is  to  be  tired  and  over- 
done," said  I,  as  I  kissed  her.  "But  you  will  feel 
better  when  you  have  rested." 

Since  then  I  have  fallen  into  the  ways  of  my 
aunt's  household,  and  my  life  goes  on  like  clock- 
work. Rise  at  six  and  dress.  Spend  an  hour  in 
our  closets  reading  of  some  good  book.  Then  to 
church  to  prayers.  Then  home,  to  breakfast  on 
bread  and  butter,  and  cold  water,  or  very  weak 
broth.  My  aunt  says  beer  spoils  the  shape  and 
complexion.  Then  to  appear  before  my  aunt  in 
her  dressing-room.  Then  she  examines  minutely 
all  the  details  of  our  toilets,  trying  our  stays  to 
see  if  they  are  tight  enough,  and  commenting  on 


126  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or> 


every  stray  hair.  After  that,  we  give  her  an  ac- 
count of  what  we  have  read  in  our  closets,  and 
read  aloud  to  her  the  lessons  of  the  day.  Then 
come  our  lessons,  —  French  and  music  and  Italian. 
My  aunt  will  have  both  the  girls  learn  music; 
and  Meg  makes  great  proficiency,  but  Bess  hates 
it :  she  has  no  ear,  and  does  make  the  most  terrible 
work.  In  the  afternoon  we  take  turns,  two  to  go 
out  with  my  lady,  and  one  to  stay  at  home,  and 
work  at  embroidery,  or  sometimes  at  plain  white 
seams  for  some  poor  body,  for  my  aunt  is  very 
charitable.  She  says  we  owe  it  to  our  position  to 
be  kind  to  the  poor,  but  I  don't  think  I  should 
want  any  one  to  be  kind  to  me  in  that  way.  Then 
in  the  evening  we  go  out  somewhere,  to  a  play,  or 
the  opera,  which  is  very  fashionable  just  now  ;  or 
to  spend  the  evening  with  some  friend  of  my 
aunt's. 

Certainly  it  is  a  very  different  life  from  that  I 
have  been  leading  the  last  few  years ;  but  I  think 
I  go  to  bed  at  night  quite  as  tired  as  I  used  to 
when  I  was  running  half  the  day  to  wait  on  my 
mistress.  There  are  many  pleasant  things  which 
were  wanting  in  my  former  life,  love  being  the 
best  of  all.  I  do  really  think  my  aunt  loves  me, 
sharp  as  she  is  at  times,  and  I  know  my  cousins  do. 
Then,  I  have  my  lessons,  especially  my  music,  in 
which  Mr.  Goodgreome  says  I  make  great  progress ; 
and  there  is  the  feeling  that  nobod}^  grudges  me 
my  living.  My  aunt  is  generous  as  the  day ; 
and  if  she  checks  us  in  eating  and  drinking  (as  I 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  127 


must  say  she  too  often  does),  it  is,  as  she  says,  for 
our  good,  lest  we  should  spoil  our  figures.  I 
believe  I  am  very  perverse  not  to  be  happy  here, 
but  I  am  afraid  I  am  not.  But  I  must  hurry  to 
put  away  my  book.  My  work  is  all  done,  that  is 
one  comfort. 

August  15. 

We  had  rather  a  painful  scene  j^esterday,  in 
which  poor  Meg  hath  been  the  sufferer,  which  is 
uncommon.  It  is  generally  Betty  who  comes  in 
for  her  mother's  anger  when  she  is  angry,  which, 
in  truth,  is  not  very  often.  But  we  had  been  to 
a  play  in  which  there  was  dancing ;  and  after  we 
were  come  home  my  aunt  gave  us  the  rather 
uncommon  indulgence  of  a  little  supper.  She 
was  talking  of  the  play  and  the  actors,  and  re- 
marked that  one  of  them,  Becky  Marshall,  was 
said  to  be  the  daughter  of  a  Presbyterian  minis- 
ter. She  asked  me  if  I  had  ever  heard  any  thing 
about  the  matter. 

"Yes,  aunt,"  I  answered,  "I  heard  Mr.  Pen- 
dergast  say  that  her  father  was  a  most  worthy 
man,  who,  he  thought,  could  hardly  be  happy  in 
heaven  if  he  knew  how  his  daughters  had  turned 
out.  I  know  that  Mr.  Pendergast  went  himself 
to  try  to  win  the  girls  from  their  way  of  life,  but 
he  did  not  succeed." 

"  I  dare  say  not,"  said  my  aunt,  "  A  woman 
must  be  pretty  well  hardened  in  sin  before  she 
would  take  to  such  courses ;  exhibiting  herself  for 
money,  and  in  men's  attire.    But  it  was  a  kind 


128  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


and  Christian  act  to  try  to  rescue  the  poor  creature. 
Who  is  this  Mr.  Pendergast?  " 

"A  Presbyterian  minister,  aunt,  whom  I  used 
to  meet  at  my  Lady  Corbet's.  He  and  his  wife 
were  very  good  to  me  there." 

"  Oh !  "  said  my  aunt,  slightly  disconcerted,  I 
fancy,  that  she  had  been  betrayed  into  praising  a 
Presbyterian  minister.  "  However,  I  won't  say 
that  it  was  not  a  good  and  kind  deed,"  she  added ; 
"  though,  as  I  said,  a  woman  must  be  lost  to  all 
sense  of  goodness  before  she  would  take  such  a 
place  at  all.  When  I  was  young,  no  women  ever 
appeared  on  the  stage.  All  the  women's  parts 
were  taken  by  boys;  and,  as  I  remember,  there 
were  some  —  Bishop  Hall  for  one  —  who  objected 
even  to  that,  and  Mr.  Prynne  wrote  an  immense 
book  about  it." 

"But,  madam,"  said  Margaret  timidly,  "if  it  be 
wrong  for  women  to  act  on  the  stage,  is  it  not 
wrong  for  other  women  to  go  and  see  them,  and 
thus  encourage  them?" 

My  aunt  looked  at  her  daughter  in  amazement. 
Margaret  went  on,  as  if  she  were  determined  to 
free  her  mind  for  once,  despite  Betty's  pinches, 
and  the  warning  glances  of  Mrs.  Sharpless  sent 
from  behind  her  lady's  chair.  "  In  the  lesson  we 
read  this  morning,  madam,  the  apostle  tells  us 
that  women  are  to  be  attired  in  modest  apparel, 
with  shamefacedness,  not  with  gold  or  pearls  or 
costly  array ;  and  St.  Peter,  as  I  remember,  says 
the  same.    Now  these  poor  creatures,  I  suppose, 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary. 


129 


take  to  the  stage  to  make  a  living,  and  no  doubt 
they  are  bad  enough.1  But  if  we  go  to  hear 
them,  and  thus  encourage  them  in  their  miserable 
way  of  life,  only  for  our  idle  amusement,  are  we 
not  more  to  blame  than  they?  I  must  needs 
think  so." 

"  Marry  come  up !  What  sort  of  Puritan 
have  I  for  a  daughter  ?"  said  my  aunt  angrily. 
"  Upon  whom  do  you  presume  to  sit  in  judgment, 
mistress?  Do  you  not  see  all  the  very  best  ladies 
of  the  court  and  in  society  at  the  play  ?  " 

"  And  don't  you  see,  Meg,  that  if  we  are  to  take 
the  apostles'  words  for  what  they  say,  we  are  all 
wrong  together  ?"  said  Betty.  "  What  becomes 
of  all  our  uncovered  necks  and  bosoms  and  our 
jewels  and  gold  lace?  You  would  condemn  us  all 
in  a  lump." 

My  aunt  did  not  see  the  sarcasm  at  all;  but 
giving  Betty  an  approving  nod,  she  bestowed  on 
Margaret  a  severe  lecture  for  her  perverseness, 
ending  with,  - — 

"  Of  course  things  are  different  now.  We  owe 
it  a  duty  to  the  world  to  dress  according  to  our 
station,  and  to  follow  the  customs  of  society ;  and 
it  is  not  for  chits  like  you  to  set  up  to  dictate. 
You  are  to  do  as  you  are  bid." 

"  I  have  no  wish  to  do  any  thing  else,"  Margaret 
began ;  but  her  mother  stopped  her,  bidding  her  go 

1  It  must  be  understood  that  T  am  speaking  of  the  stage  in  the 
lime  of  the  Stewarts.  Of  the  stage  at  present  I  know  next  to 
nothing,  save  that  it  is  much  better  than  it  was  then.  —  L.  E.  G. 


130  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


to  bed,  and  not  appear  before  her  again  till  she  had 
learned  without  book  three  parts  of  the  119th  Psalm 
in  French.  My  aunt  kept  us  to  treat  us  to  plum- 
cake,  seasoned  with  a  lecture  on  the  evil  of  young 
people  professing  to  know  more  than  their  elders. 
As  we  went  up-stairs,  we  heard  Meg  sobbing  in 
her  room,  but  she  would  not  let  us  in.  This 
morning  she  was  up  very  early  ;  and,  when  we  went 
to  my  aunt,  she  had  her  task  prepared,  whereat  my 
aunt  kissed  and  forgave  her.  But  after  all,  think- 
ing it  over,  I  can't  see  but  Meg  was  right.  The 
Bible  does  say  those  \ery  words,  for  I  looked  them 
up  afterward.    I  said  as  much  to  Betty. 

"  Of  course  she  was  right,"  said  Bess  ;  "  that 
is,  if  there  be  any  right  or  reality  about  it  any- 
where. I  would  like  to  know  where  in  the  New 
Testament  my  mother  finds  laid  down  the  duty 
which  Christians  owe  to  the  world.  I  think  I 
will  ask  Dr.  Tenison  about  that,  if  ever  I  have 
a  chance." 

"But,  Bess,  all  the  ladies  my  aunt  visits,  and 
those  whom  she  holds  up  to  us  for  examples,  do 
these  things/'  said  I.  "  My  Lady  Sunderland,  as 
particular  as  she  is,  was  at  the  play  last  night." 

"There  was  a  time,  or  so  I  suppose,  that  all  the 
fine  ladies  went  to  see  Christian  men  and  women 
and  poor  captives  fight  for  their  lives  with  wild 
beasts,"  retorted  Bess.  "  You  know  we  read 
about  the  vestal  virgins  yesterday,  and  how  they 
always  had  the  best  places." 

"Anyhow  I  am  glad  my  aunt  hath  taken  Meg 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary. 


131 


into  favor  again,"  said  I.  "  I  could  not  but  won- 
der at  her  coming  out  so.    It  was  not  like  her." 

"  You  will  say  it  is  just  like  her  when  you  know 
her  better,"  said  Bess.  "  Every  now  and  then  she 
angers  my  mother  in  the  same  way.  I  wish  she 
would  not ;  for  it  does  no  good,  and  only  brings 
down  a  storm  which  hurts  Meg,  and  some  addi- 
tional task  which  hurts  her  still  more.  Don't  you 
see  how  pale  she  is  to-day  ?  I  dare  swear  she  did 
not  sleep  last  night.  I  do  think  my  mother  is  as 
blind  as  a  bat.  Oh,  how  I  wish  something  would 
happen  that  we  might  go  to  my  aunt  Laneham's 
again ! " 

"  Why,  where  is  she  ?  "  I  asked. 

"She  lives  in  Biddeford,  and  my  mother  sent 
us  to  her  once  when  one  of  our  servants  had  small- 
pox. Meg  was  happier  there  than  I  ever  saw  her, 
though  my  aunt  Laneham  is  poor,  and  our  meat 
and  lodging  were  plain  enough.  But  she  went 
out  with  my  aunt  and  uncle  to  visit  the  poor  folk 
and  the  sick ;  and  then  aunt  knows  how  to  let  one 
alone,  which  I  believe  my  mother  never  can.  O 
Dorothy,  I  would  do  any  thing  in  the  world  for 
Meg ! " 

"  There  is  one  thing  you  could  do  for  her," 
said  I,  "  and  that  is  to  take  more  pains  with  your 
music,  and  not  make  such  dreadful  noises  on  the 
harpsichon." 

Bess  turned  round  and  looked  at  me  in  amaze- 
ment, with  her  eyebrows  lifted  to  the  top  of  her 
forehead  so  it  was  well  my  aunt  did  not  see  her. 


132  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  she.  "  You  know 
I  have  no  ear.    You  said  so  yourself." 

"I  never  said  you  had  no  eyes,"  I  answered. 
"  See  here.  Your  eyes  tell  you  that  the  notes  in 
that  chord  are  B,  D,  and  G,  don't  they  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure." 

"  And  they  also  tell  you  what  are  the  keys  on 
the  harpsichon  answering  to  those  notes?"  Bess 
nodded.  "  Then  why  can't  you  play  those  notes 
instead  of  scraping  our  ears  by  playing  F  and  C  ?" 

Betty's  eyebrows  came  down  a  little,  and  she 
looked  like  one  who  has  received  a  new  idea. 

"Do  you  really  think  I  could  learn  to  play, 
Dorothy  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  do  think  so.  I  won't  say  you  could  ever 
make  a  great  player.  Your  ear  is  not  fine  enough. 
But  you  can  learn  to  play  correctly  if  you  do  but 
take  pains  enough,  and  certainly  that  would  be  a 
comfort  to  Meg.  Her  ear  is  so  fine  that  every 
discord  is  a  torture  to  her,  though  she  would  never 
say  so." 

"  She  is  too  sweet  and  patient  ever  to  complain 
of  any  thing,"  said  Bess  ;  "  the  more  shame  that 
she  should  be  murdered  by  inches,  which  is  what 
my  mother  is  doing." 

"  You  should  not  say  so,"  said  I,  shocked  at  her 
words.  u  Come,  now,  play  your  lesson,  and  I  will 
overlook  you  if  you  like." 

"  And  what  about  your  French  verb  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  know  it  already !  Come,  begin,  and  I 
will  count  for  you." 


Mrs.  Studley^s  Diary. 


133 


We  really  did  get  through  the  lesson  very 
decently,  and  I  felt  paid  for  all  my  pains  by  Bet- 
ty's glance  when  Meg  said  this  morning,  "  You 
played  that  nicely,  Bess.  It  was  really  a  pleasure 
to  hear  you." 

When  the  lesson  was  done,  Betty  put  her  arms 
round  me  and  kissed  me. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  came  here,  Dorothy.  —  Are 
not  you,  Meg  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed  !  "  says  Meg. 

"  That  is,  for  our  sake  I  am,"  said  Bess.  "  I 
am  not  sure  I  am  for  yours." 

"  Then  you  should  be,"  said  I ;  for  I  won't  en- 
courage Bess  in  her  discontent,  which  only  makes 
matters  worse.  "  I  am  sure  your  mother  is  most 
kind,  far  beyond  any  thing  I  had  a  right  to 
expect,  in  putting  me,  a  stranger,  on  an  exact 
equality  with  her  own  daughters  in  all  respects, 
and  presenting  me  to  all  her  friends." 

"  Yes,  that  is  a  great  privilege,"  muttered  Bess. 

"  It  is  a  privilege,  as  you  would  know,  if  you 
had  been  motherless  so  long  as  I  have,"  I  an- 
swered. "  Granting,  for  the  sake  of  argument, 
that  my  aunt  makes  mistakes,  yet  you  must  see 
that  all  she  does  is  with  a  view  to  our  good.  She 
said  last  night  that  if  she  could  see  us  well  settled 
in  the  world  she  would  be  ready  to  leave  it." 

"  Does  she  not  talk  like  a  preacher  ?  "  said  Betty, 
turning  to  Meg.  "  '  Granting,  for  the  sake  of 
argument.'  Did  you  learn  that  from  your  Mr. 
Pendergast,  Dorothy." 


134  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


I  never  mind  Betty's  mocking  speeches;  for 
to  me,  at  least,  there  is  no  unkindness  in  her 
mockery. 

"  I  never  learned  any  thing  but  good  of  him,  and 
I  dare  say  I  might  have  learned  more  than  I  did," 
I  returned. 

"  What  sort  of  person  was  he  ?  "  asked  Margaret ; 
"  was  he  a  gentleman?  " 

u  I  don't  exactly  know  wThat  you  mean  by  a 
gentleman." 

"  What !  you  don't  know  what  is  meant  by  a 
gentleman,  when  you  see  such  shining  examples 
before  you  every  day  !  "  said  Betty.  "  Look  at 
my  Lord  Chesterton,  if  you  want  the  model  of  a 
gentleman." 

"  He  certainly  was  not  a  bit  like  my  Lord  Ches- 
terton," said  I,  "for  he  was  a  little,  meagre  man, 
very  poorly  dressed.  But  I. must  say  I  liked  him 
much  the  best  of  the  two,  if  I  must  compare 
them." 

"  And  he  did  not  flourish  his  snuff-box,  nor 
swear  every  other  word,  nor  tell  stories  about 
Mrs.  This  and  Lady  T'other,  and  boast  of  the 
conquests  he  had  made  ?  Of  course  he  could  not 
be  a  gentleman,"  said  Bess. 

"  Don't  let  us  spoil  our  holiday  talking  of  such 
things,"  said  Margaret.  "  I  hate  the  very  sound 
of  them.  Sing  us  a  nice  song,  Dorothy.  Sing 
that  lovely  hymn  of  Bishop  Ken's  that  Mr.  Good- 
groome  brought  us  the  other  day,  and  let  us  forget 
the  world  for  a  little." 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  135 


I  sung  the  hymn,  and  then  another  that  I 
learned  of  Bab  Andrews,  about  the  golden  city 
of  Jerusalem,  with  which  Margaret  was  greatly 
delighted,  and  asked  me  who  was  the  author.  I 
told  her  it  was  writ  in  Latin  by  St.  Bernard,  I 
believed  ;  but  I  did  not  tell  her  that  it  had  been 
done  into  English  by  poor  Mr.  Fairchild,  as  a  fare- 
well token  to  his  mistress.  I  felt  as  if  Bab's 
confidences  were  sacred. 

"  That  just  suits  Margaret.  Would  you  not 
like  to  be  a  nun,  Meg?  "  asked  Betty. 

44  No,"  said  Meg,  after  a  little  consideration,  u  I 
don't  think  I  should.  I  would  like  to  live  as  my 
aunt  Laneham  does,  or  like  my  Lady  Jemima 
Stanton,  that  the  dean's  wife  took  us  to  see  once 
when  we  were  little  girls.  Don't  you  remember?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Bess.  44  What  a  happy 
day  we  had  !  But  I  am  not  sure  I  should  like  to 
live  like  my  aunt  Laneham  all  the  time,  —  to  wear 
grogram  and  homespun,  and  count  every  sixpence 
and  every  slice  of  bread  as  she  does." 

"Is  she  so  very  penurious,  then?"  I  asked, 
thinking  of  my  mistress.  "  I  don't  think  Meg 
would  like  that  at  all,  not  if  she  had  had  my 
experience." 

"  My  aunt  Laneham  is  not  one  bit  penurious," 
said  Meg,  rather  indignantly.  44 1  never  saw 
people  so  openhanded  as  she  and  my  uncle.  But 
he  is  a  clergyman,  with  a  large  parish,  and  a  not 
very  large  living ;  and  my  aunt  is  obliged  to  spare 
that  she  may  have  wherewith  to  be  generous." 


136  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


"  That  is  a  very  different  matter,"  I  answered. 
"  That  is  like  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pendergast,  if  you  are 
not  tired  of  hearing  about  them." 

"I  am  not,"  said  Meg.  "I  like  to  hear  all 
about  such  people.    Tell  us  more  about  them." 

So  we  sat  down,  I  with  my  knitting,  —  which 
my  aunt  highly  commends,  and  has  given  me  silk 
thread  enough  for  a  pair  of  hose,  —  and  the  girls 
with  their  white  seam,  and  I  told  them  all  I  knew 
about  the  minister's  family  and  household,  —  how 
poor  they  were,  and  what  hard  work  they  often 
had  to  appear  even  decently  clad;  and  how  Mrs. 
Pendergast  and  her  oldest  daughter  Beulah  went 
about  among  the  poor  folks,  and  had  the  little 
ones  come  to  them  to  learn  to  read  and  sew ;  and 
so  on,  making  a  long  story  out  of  a  little,  because 
I  saw  that  Meg  was  pleased.  When  I  stopped  at 
last,  — 

"I  don't  see  but  good  people  are  much  alike 
everywhere,"  said  Meg.  "  This  minister's  wife 
seems  very  much  like  my  aunt  Laneham." 

"What  is  that?"  said  my  aunt,  opening  the 
door.    "  What  about  aunt  Laneham  ?  " 

I  started,  she  came  in  so  quietly,  but  Meg 
answered  tranquilly,  — 

"I  was  only  saying,  madam,  that  my  aunt  was 
like  a  very  good  woman  Dorothy  was  telling  us 
of,  who  visited  the  poor  and  sick,  and  taught  little 
maidens  to  read  and  sew." 

"Ah,  poor  sister  Laneham!  She  threw  herself 
away  dreadfully.    She  might  have  been  living  in 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary. 


137 


one  of.  the  finest  country-houses  in  Devon  ;  but 
she  would  have  her  own  way,  and  she  got  it.  I 
always  thought  her  parents  much  to  blame  in 
giving  in  to  her.  But  your  grandfather  and 
grandmother  were  very  lax  with  their  children. 
Talking  of  clergymen,  Margaret,  I  hear  you  were 
not  at  church  this  morning.    How  was  that  ?  " 

"  I  was  there,  madam  ;  but  I  felt  faint  and  ill, 
and  so  sat  under  a  window,  that  I  might  have  the 
fresh  air,"  answered  Meg. 

"  Oh,  very  well !  Lady  Carewe  told  me  she  did 
not  see  you." 

"Spiteful,  tattling  old  toad!"  muttered  Betty 
between  her  teeth,  which  my  aunt,  overhearing, 
rewarded  with  a  sharp  rap  from  her  fan-handle, 
which  was  meant  for  her  shoulders,  but  unluckily 
fell  across  her  cheek  instead,  making  a  red  bar  on 
the  white  skin.  Betty  uttered  a  cry  of  pain;  for 
she  has  been  having  the  toothache  lately,  and  her 
cheek  is  very  tender.  Meg  started  forward,  her 
pale  cheek  flushed  for  once. 

"  You  must  not  give  way  to  these  megrims, 
Meg,"  said  my  aunt,  taking  no  notice  of  Betty. 
"  They  are  more  than  half  fancy,  and  the  more  you 
give  way  to  them,  the  more  you  may.  Let  me  see 
you  down-stairs  in  an  hour,  nicely  dressed.  My 
Lady  Sunderland  has  lent  us  her  box  for  the  play 
to-night.  Dorothy,  you  may  wear  your  green 
silk,  and  Margaret  may  do  the  same.  Betty  will 
wear  her  old  black  silk."  With  that  she  left  the 
room ;  and  Meg  and  I  set  ourselves  to  comfort 


138 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


and  quiet  Betty,  who  was  in  an  agony  of  rage 
and  shame,  and  of  pain  as  well,  for  the  blow  had 
set  her  teeth  to  aching.  I  know  one  thing :  if 
ever  I  have  a  grown-up  daughter,  I  will  never 
strike  her. 

"  You  cannot  go  to  the  play  to-night,  Bess,  that 
is  one  comfort,"  said  Meg ;  and  indeed  her  face 
was  swollen  and  angry,  and  growing  worse  every 
moment. 

"I  will  go,"  said  Bess.  "I  will  shame  her 
before  all  the  company." 

"  Shame  your  own  mother  !  "  said  I.  "  Remem- 
ber, her  shame  is  yours ;  and,  beside,  my  aunt  did 
not  mean  to  strike  your  face." 

All  we  could  do  did  not  avail  to  prevent  Bess 
from  going  down  to  the  parlor ;  though  her  face 
was  a  woeful  spectacle,  with  a  fiery  red  bar  across 
it,  and  the  blood  settling  round  her  eye.  Luckily 
there  were  no  strangers  present.  My  aunt  did 
look  disconcerted  for  a  moment. 

"  You  cannot  go  to  the  play  in  this  state,"  said 
she.  "  I  did  not  mean  to  strike  your  cheek,  nor 
to  strike  so  hard." 

"It  does  not  matter,  madam,"  answered  Betty. 

"  Don't  answer  me  in  that  tone,  child,"  said  my 
aunt,  more  gently  than  I  expected.  "  Do  you 
not  know,  Betty,  that  young  folks  must  be  cor- 
rected sometimes?  How  else  would  they  be 
fitted  to  take  their  proper  places  in  society  ?  My 
whole  desire  is  to  see  Margaret  and  yourself,  and 
Dorothy  too,"  she  added  kindly,  "  well  settled  in 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary. 


139 


the  world,,  and  answering  to  what  the  world 
expects  of  ladies  in  your  condition." 

"And  what  about  the  other  world,  madam?" 
asked  Bettj^,  who  had  got  the  bit  between  her 
teeth,  and  was  reckless  of  consequences.  "  That 
is  a  world,  which,  if  all  we  hear  be  true,  is  likely 
to  last  a  good  deal  longer  than  this.  How  about 
that  ?  " 

My  lady  looked  really  grieved. 

ul  did  not  expect  such  a  question  from  my 
daughter,"  said  she.  u  Do  I  not  take  all  the  pains 
possible  with  your  religious  education  ?  Do  I  not 
give  you  the  best  books  of  devotion  that  can  be 
found  both  in  French  and  English  ?  Do  I  not  send 
you  to  church  every  day  and  twice  on  Sundays? 
What  more  can  I  do?  But  there,  I  pardon  you, 
child.  You  have  jTour  father's  temper,  and  one 
must  make  allowances.  Go  to  your  room,  and  bid 
Sharpless  make  a  poultice  for  your  face,  and  I  will 
send  you  some  custard  for  your  supper.  But  try 
to  rule  your  spirit,  Betty,  and  do  not  doubt  your 
mother's  love,  though  she  may  think  it  needful  to 
cross  you  at  times." 

I  saw  that  Betty  was  softened  in  a  moment, 
though  she  said  nothing.  Meg  ventured  to  ask 
if  she  might  stay  with  her  sister,  but  my  aunt  said 
no.  She  had  made  up  a  party  for  her  box,  and 
could  not  have  it  broken  up.  So  we  went  to  the 
play ;  and  there  we  met  Lord  Chesterton,  who 
devoted  himself  to  Meg  all  the  evening,  much  to 
her  annoyance.    I  could  not  but  wonder  if  it  were 


140  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


necessary  to  the  character  of  a  fine  gentleman  to 
take  the  name  of  God  in  vain  at  every  breath,  as 
they  all  do.  Mr.  Evelyn  is  as  fine  a  gentleman 
as  any  of  them,  and  I  never  heard  him  do  it.  It 
used  to  scare  me  dreadfully  at  first;  but  I  am 
growing  used  to  it,  and  even  find  myself  catching 
up  the  words,  which  some  ladies  use  very  freely, 
I  find. 

•  August  20. 

I  have  seen  Mr.  Morley. 

We  went  to  church  as  usual  this  morning. 
Ursula  Jackson  comes  every  Sunday  with  her  hus- 
band, and  I  have  got  a  habit  of  looking  for  her, 
and  sometimes  of  speaking  when  we  meet.  My 
aunt  doth  not  object,  because  she  says  we  owe  it 
to  ourselves  to  be  civil  to  all,  each  in  their  degree. 
Well,  I  looked  round  as  usual,  after  we  had  cour- 
tesied  to  my  Lady  Carewe  (a  wonderful  object  she 
is  in  her  black  locks  and  rouged  cheeks,  which 
show  the  crow's  feet  and  wrinkles  through  all  her 
paint).  Well,  I  glanced  toward  Ursula's  pew  as 
usual,  and  there  sat  Mr.  Morley.  I  was  so  aston- 
ished I  could  hardly  command  myself.  While 
I  was  looking,  Ursula  and  her  husband  came  in  ; 
and  Mr.  Morley  rose  to  make  room  for  them,  with 
a  polite  salute,  which  Mr.  Jackson  returned, 
though  he  looked  like  a  small  thunder-storm.  Mr. 
Morley  bowed  very  particularly  to  me ;  and  I 
returned  his  salute,  not  knowing  what  else  to  do. 

When  we  came  out,  my  aunt  asked  mq  who  it 
was  that  had  bowed  to  me.    I  told  her  it  was  a 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary. 


141 


distant  cousin  of  Lady  Corbet's,  whom  I  had  met 
at  her  house. 

"  One  of  her  way  of  thinking  ?  "  she  asked. 

"No,  madam,"  I  answered.  "  He  has  a  com- 
pany in  Col.  Kirke's  regiment." 

"  Ay,  I  thought  lie  looked  like  a  soldier,"  was 
her  comment. 

As  we  passed  out,  I  heard  Mr.  Jackson  rating 
the  old  pew-opener  for  daring  to  put  a  stranger 
into  his  seat.  The  poor  old  woman  protested  that 
she  meant  no  offence,  saying  the  gentleman  bad 
told  her  he  was  Mrs.  Jackson's  cousin.  Ursula 
stood  by  without  a  word.  I  fancy  she  hath  met 
her  match,  and  I  am  not  one  bit  sorry  if  she  has. 

What  was  my  surprise,  on  coming  down  in  the 
evening,  to  find  Mr.  Morley  with  my  aunt,  and 
evidently  in  favor ! 

"  Mr.  Morley  has  brought  me  a  letter  from  your 
father,  girls,"  said  my  aunt,  as  she  presented  him 
to  us.  "  He  is  on  his  way  up  to  town,  and  as  Mr. 
Morley  passed  him  on  the  road  he  was  kind  enough 
to  take  charge  of  a  packet.  Your  father  was 
obliged  by  business  to  stop  a  few  days  on  the 
road,  but  he  will  be  here  the  last  of  the  week." 

Both  the  girls  uttered  exclamations  of  joy. 
They  are  clearly  very  fond  of  their  father,  who  I 
fancy  is  more  indulgent  than  their  mother. 

"  Sir  Robert  is  happy  in  having  such  affection- 
ate daughters,"  said  Mr.  Morley,  bowing;  "and  I 
an  glad  to  find  my  old  acquaintance,  Mrs.  Dolly 
Corbet,  in  such  pleasant  circumstances." 


142  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


"  Yes,  my  girls  are  fond  of  their  father,  who 
spoils  them  dreadfully,"  said  my  aunt,  looking  not 
ill-pleased,  however.  "  Dorothy  has  not  yet  seen 
her  uncle." 

Mr.  Morley  staid  to  supper,  and  made  himself  so 
agreeable  that  I  felt  proud  of  him.  Of  course, 
we  had  no  chance  to  talk  together  in  private  ;  but 
it  was  enough  for  once  to  be  in  the  room  with  him, 
to  hear  his  voice,  and  catch  now  and  then  a  glance 
from  his  eye  meant  for  me  alone.  When  at  last 
he  took  his  leave,  my  aunt  asked  him  to  come 
again.  I  should  be  the  happiest  girl  alive  only  that 
Meg  has  taken  an  unaccountable  dislike  to  him. 
When  I  ventured  to  ask  her  what  she  thought  of 
him,  "  Why,  as  I  thought  when  I  saw  the  great 
American  viper  that  Mr.  Bojde  showed  us  in  his 
museum,"  said  she.  "  His  head  hath  just  the  same 
shape  ;  only  they  say  the  viper  gives  warning  when 
he  is  about  to  strike,  and  I  doubt  this  one  would 
not." 

"  You  are  not  used  to  be  so  uncharitable,  Meg," 
said  I,  very  much  vexed. 

"  Perhaps  I  am  wrong,"  said  she,  "  but  I  took  a 
dislike  to  the  man  the  moment  I  saw  him." 

"  You  ought  to  like  him  because  he  is  my 
friend,"  said  I. 

"  That  is  the  very  reason  I  don't,"  she  rejoined. 

"  And  what  say  you,  Betty  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Don't 
you  like  him,  either  ?  " 

"  I  don't  like  or  dislike  him,"  said  Betty.  "  He 
is  like  all  the  rest,  —  stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable. 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary. 


143 


Oh,  how  I  do  hate  it  all!  Bat  I  am  glad  my 
father  is  coming  up  :  do  you  know  why  ?  " 

"  Because  you  wish  to  see  him." 

"  Yes,  and  because  I  know  very  well  he  will 
never  endure  to  stay  here  long.  He  hates  London 
as  much  as  I  do,  and  you  will  see  he  will  whisk 
us  down  to  dear  old  Devon  before  three  weeks 
are  over ;  and  oh,  how  glad  I  shall  be !  —  Won't 
you,  Meg  ?  " 

"Yes,  if  I  go,"  said  Meg  wearily.  "Dolly, 
will  you  let  Sharpless  come  to  me  first  to-night,  I 
am  so  tired  ?  "  (For  we  take  turns  in  being  first 
waited  on.) 

"  You  may  have  her  all  the  time,  for  all  I  care," 
said  I.  "  You  know  I  am  used  to  dressing  myself. 
But  why  do  you  say,  4  if  I  go  '  ?  Of  course  you 
will  go  with  us." 

She  shook  her  head  sadly,  but  said  not  one 
word,  as  she  passed  into  her  room  and  closed  the 
door.    I  looked  at  Betty. 

"  What  does  she  mean  ?  "  said  I. 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Betty,  "  only  Meg 
always  thinks  she  shall  die  young.  But  there 
may  be  another  reason.  Come  into  my  room, 
Dorothy." 

She  shut  the  door,  and  said  in  a  low  tone,  "  I 
think  my  mother  has  a  match  in  hand  for  her." 

"  You  don't  mean  Lord  Chesterton ! "  I  ex- 
claimed, rather  more  loudly  than  was  prudent. 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Bess.    "  Yes,  I  am  afraid  so." 

"  But  she  cannot  abide  him  !  " 


144  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


"He  is  an  earl's  son  and  probable  heir  to  a 
dukedom,"  said  Betty  bitterly. 

"  And  an  atheist,  open  and  avowed." 

"  Well,  not  exactly  that.  You  know  it  is  the 
genteel  thing  for  men  to  have  doubts  about  re- 
ligion." 

I  thought  of  Mr.  Morley,  and  was  silent  for  a 
moment ;  then  I  asked,  "  But  what  think  you 
your  father  will  say?" 

"  He  would  not  let  Meg  be  sacrificed  —  or  I 
think  not  —  if  she  were  utterly  set  against  this 
man,"  answered  Betty  slowly ;  "  though  Sir  Robert 
rarely  interferes  with  my  mother.  I  think  you 
will  love  him,  Dolly,  though  he  is  rather  rough 
in  his  ways  at  times.  But  I  don't  know  that  his 
oaths  and  stories  are  any  worse  than  those  of  the 
fine  gentlemen  that  visit  my  mother." 

"I  don't  see  how  they  could  be.  But,  Bess, 
don't  be  too  much  cast  down.  It  may  well  be 
that  we  are  borrowing  trouble  about  Meg." 

"  Well,  I  hope  so.  There  is  one  thing  about  it, 
I  don't  believe  any  one  she  marries  will  trouble 
her  long.    Good-night,  Dolly." 

August  27. 

My  uncle  has  come,  a  big,  roistering  country 
gentleman,  who  kissed  me  on  both  sides  of  my 
face,  and  bade  God  bless  me,  and  in  the  same 
breath  damned  his  man  for  not  bringing  his 
bootjack.  But  I  like  him  for  all ;  there  is 
something  real  and  genuine  about  him.  He 
scolded  about  our  pale  cheeks,  vowed  he  would 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


145 


have  us  out  stag-hunting,  and  asked  me  if  I 
could  ride. 

"I  don't  know,  uncle.  I  am  like  the  man  in 
the  jest-book,  who  said  he  did  not  know  if  he 
could  play  the  fiddle,  because  he  had  never  tried." 

He  laughed  a  great,  hearty  laugh,  and  said  he 
was  glad  to  see  I  had  a  spirit  of  my  own.  Then 
turning  to  his  elder  daughter,  — 

"  Why,  Meg,  thou  lookest  more  like  a  white 
bind-weed  than  ever.    What  ails  thee,  child?" 

"  Margaret  hath  been  a  little  drooping,  but  we 
shall  soon  have  her  better,"  said  my  aunt.  "  Will 
you  not  wash  and  dress  before  supper,  Sir 
Robert?" 

"  Oh,  ay,  I  suppose  so ! "  said  he,  and  strode 
away  whistling.  The  house  seems  brighter  already 
for  his  presence.  He  hath  begged  a  holiday  for 
us,  that  he  may  take  us  to  see  the  sights.  My 
aunt  gives  in  to  him  wonderfully,  and  Betty  hangs 
on  him  like  a  burr.  He  has  taken  us  to  see  the 
lions  in  the  tower,  and  some  other  sights,  and 
given  us  two  or  three  drives  out  of  town  to  one 
resort  and  another.  Among  others  we  went  to 
Hackney,  and  saw  the  place  where  I  went  to 
school.  The  old  house  was  pulled  down,  and  a 
new  one  was  going  up,  which  I  suppose  my  poor 
mother's  three  hundred  pounds  helped  to  build. 
I  would  I  had  the  ordering  of  a  few  clever  hob- 
goblins for  the  owner's  benefit.  He  would  not 
stay  long  in  his  fine  mansion. 

Mr.  Morley  hath  called  two  or  three  times,  and 


146 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


hath  even  dined  with  us.  My  uncle  says  he  is  a 
rising  man,  in  favor  at  court,  and  like  to  do  well. 
He  hath  paid  me  some  attention,  but  of  course 
we  have  no  chance  to  talk  together  in  private. 
Only  last  night  we  had  a  few  words  over  the 
harpsichon,  where  he  had  been  singing  with  me. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  don't  care  for  me  any  more, 
Dolly,"  said  he.  "  Your  grand  friends  and  ad- 
mirers have  made  you  forget  your  poor  soldier  of 
fortune." 

"I  know  not  why  you  should  say  that,"  I 
answered.  "  Would  you  have  me  run  after 
you?" 

"  Ah,  I  see  you  have  learned  repartee  !  But  do 
you  remember  our  interviews  in  the  park?  I 
would  we  could  have  another  such  walk  together 
as  we  had  that  last  morning.  Come,  meet  me 
to-morrow  in  the  old  place." 

"  I  cannot  if  I  would,  and  I  would  not  if  I  could," 
said  I.  "  I  promised  solemnly  I  would  never  do 
that  again." 

"  And  to  whom  did  you  give  that  promise  ?  To 
your  amiable  mistress,  or  to  her  vinegar-faced 
waiting-woman  ?  Pshaw,  Dolly !  Vows  were  made 
to  be  broken." 

"  I  tell  you  it  is  impossible ! "  said  T.  "  You 
might  as  well  ask  me  to  meet  you  in  the  moon." 

My  aunt  called  me  at  that  moment,  so  I  could 
say  no  more.  I  don't  know  how  it  is  :  I  ought  to 
be  the  happiest  girl  in  the  world  now  that  I  can 
see  Mr.  Morley  so  often,  and  that  my  uncle  and 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


147 


aunt  like  him ;  but  I  am  not.  I  suppose  perfect 
happiness  is  not  for  this  world. 

September  1. 

My  uncle  already  talks  of  going  down  to  Full- 
ham,  and  the  girls  are  well  pleased.  I  don't  want 
to  go  at  all. 

September  2. 

The  murder  is  out,  Lord  Chesterton  has  made 
proposals  for  Margaret,  and  been  accepted.  My 
uncle  pished  and  pshawed  a  little  about  giving  his 
Meg  to  a  courtier,  but  gave  in  when  my  aunt  rep- 
resented the  likelihood  of  Meg's  being  a  duchess; 
for  the  duke's  elder  son  is  lately  dead,  and  the 
other  is  a  poor,  sickly  little  lad.  Margaret  says 
little,  but  makes  no  objection.  She  grows  thinner 
and  paler  every  day ;  but  my  aunt  does  not  seem  to 
notice  it,  or  has  not  till  lately.  Now  she  makes  her 
take  a  little  ale  with  her  dinner,  and  two  or  three 
nights  she  hath  herself  brought  her  a  cup  of  wine 
whey  at  night.  I  cannot  make  Meg  out.  Some- 
times I  think  she  is  pleased  with  the  thought  of 
being  a  duchess  and  living  in  that  grand  house, 
though  that  is  not  like  her.  For  my  own  part,  I 
would  rather  live  in  a  cabin  with  the  man  I  love. 
I  said  as  much  to  Meg  one  night. 

"  And  so  would  I,  perhaps,  if  things  were  differ- 
ent," said  she,  with  a  moonlight  smile  ;  "  but,  as  it 
is,  it  does  not  matter." 

"  Why  do  you  always  say  that?"  I  asked.  "I 
think  it  matters  a  great  deal." 

"  If  you  were  to  stay  only  an  hour  or  two  at  an 


148 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


inn  on  your  way  home,  you  would  not  care  much, 
though  3'our  accommodations  were  rough,  and 
your  companions  not  greatly  to  your  mind,"  said 
Meg. 

44 1  don't  understand  you,"  said  I ;  but  I  had  no 
chance  to  ask  any  more,  for  my  lady  called  us  to 
see  the  splendid  presents  of  jewels  and  lace  that 
the  duke  hath  sent  to  Margaret.  The  poor  little 
boy  fades  every  day,  they  say,  and  the  duke  treats 
his  nephew  already  as  his  heir.  I  never  in  all  my 
life  saw  such  pearls,  —  as  big  as  peas,  and  of  a 
wonderful  purity  and  lustre.  And  there  is  a 
sapphire  jewel,  in  a  ring,  which  is  like  a  piece  out 
of  the  blue  sky.  Meg  regarded  them  all  with  the 
same  tranquil  gravity  with  which  she  looks  at  all 
the  splendid  preparations  for  her  bridal. 

"My  uncle  has  been  very  kind,  has  he  not?" 
said  Lord  Chesterton,  who  had  himself  brought 
the  jewels. 

44  Yes,  every  one  is  very  kind,"  said  Margaret 
gently. 

44  But  you  don't  care  for  the  silly  things,  after 
all?"  said  he,  looking  earnestly  at  her.  (I  do 
think  he  is  in  love  with  her.)  44  Mrs.  Margaret, 
what  can  T  do  to  give  you  a  pleasure?  I  would 
sell  my  soul  to  see  you  look  pleased  for  once." 

Margaret  turned  her  lovely  eyes  upon  him  with 
an  earnest  expression. 

44  Then  if  you  would  really  please  me,  my  lord, 
there  is  one  thing  you  might  do,  and  that  is  to 
break  off  such  expressions  as  you  used  just  now." 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  149 


(For  he  had  confirmed  his  words  with  an  oath, 
as  usual.)  "  I  beseech  you  to  break  off  this  habit 
of  taking  God's  holy  name  in  vain  on  every 
light  occasion.  That  indeed  would  give  me  great 
pleasure." 

"Well,  I  will,"  said  he,  kissing  the  hand  she 
had  laid  on  his  arm  in  her  earnestness.  "  I  know 
'tis  a  bad  habit ;  but,  after  all,  it  means  nothing." 

"That  is  just  the  trouble,"  said  Meg.  "It  is 
against  that  very  meaningless  invocation  of  the 
holy  name  that  the  command  is  aimed.  I  beseech 
you,  my  lord,  if  you  care  for  me,  to  break  it  off." 

"  I  will  try,  indeed  I  will,"  said  he ;  "  I'll  be  "  — 
Then  catching  himself  up  with  an  embarrassed 
laugh,  "There  it  is,  you  see.  But  indeed,  Mar- 
garet, I  will  try,  if  only  to  please  you." 

I  never  liked  my  lord  so  much  as  at  that  mo- 
ment. He  forgot  his  affectations,  and  looked  and 
spoke  like  a  man.  My  aunt,  coming  back  just 
then,  began  praising  the  jewels. 

"  I  never  saw  any  thing  so  beautiful,"  said  she. 
"  Of  what  do  they  remind  you,  Margaret?  " 

"  Of  the  twelve  gates  that  were  twelve  pearls," 
said  Margaret :  "  and  of  the  walls  of  the  city  that 
are  built  of  precious  stones." 

I  saw  the  tears  come  to  my  Lord  Chesterton's 
eyes  as  he  turned  away  to  the  window. 

"  You  see  my  daughter  is  very  religious,"  said 
my  aunt. 

"  I  would  not  have  her  otherwise,  madam,"  he 
answered.    "My  own  mother  is  a  devout  woman, 


150  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


and  prays  for  her  scapegrace  of  a  son  every  day. 
Perhaps  her  prayers  may  be  answered  :  who  knows? 
—  I  think  you  will  love  my  mother,  Margaret. 
You  and  she  will  take  pleasure  in  trotting  about 
to  the  cottages  together,  and  the  north  winds  will 
blow  some  roses  into  these  pale  cheeks.  I  do 
hope  you  will  like  my  mother." 

"I  am  sure  I  shall,"  said  Margaret,  with  far 
more  interest  than  she  had  showed  in  the  jewels. 
"  Does  she  visit  among  the  poor  folk?  Tell  me 
about  her." 

Lord  Chesterton  looked  as  pleased  as  a  boy  at 
having  found  something  to  gratify  his  lady,  and 
they  talked  together  a  long  time.  I  believe  there 
is  good  in  him,  after  all. 

I  heard  a  bit  of  good  news  to-day;  namely,  that 
Mr.  Baxter  is  released  from  prison  on  payment  of 
his  fine,  which  it  seems  was  raised  by  his  friends. 
I  wonder  if  my  mistress  gave  another  seven  shil- 
lings. Mr.  Morley  brought  the  news,  adding  that 
folks  said  his  Majesty  was  courting  the  Dissenters. 

"  And  what  is  that  for  ?  "  asked  my  uncle,  who, 
I  believe,  thinks  of  Dissenters  as  of  some  trouble- 
some kind  of  weeds  or  animals. 

"  I  can  but  tell  you  what  is  in  men's  mouths," 
said  Mr.  Morley.  "  'Tis  rumored  that  his  Majesty 
intends  to  issue  an  act  of  toleration  to  his  own 
sort  of  people,  and  that  he  will  include  the  Dis- 
senters, so  as  a  little  to  take  off  the  edge,  as  it 
were." 

"  And  the}'  will  jump  at  the  chance,  of  course," 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary. 


151 


said  my  uncle;  "and  we  shall  have  a  conventicle 
at  every  corner,  eh,  Dolly?  Don't  yon  think  so? 
Won't  your  Presbyterian  friends  jump  at  the 
chance  ?  " 

"I  think  not,  sir,"  I  answered.  "Once  when 
the  matter  was  talked  of  I  heard  one  of  their  di- 
vines say  that  they  would  not  accept  toleration  on 
any  such  terms." 

"And  did  you  ever  see  this  Mr.  Baxter,  this 
Kidderminster  bishop  as  Jeffreys  called  him  ? " 
asked  my  uncle. 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,  many  times  !  He  was  very  kind 
to  me.  I  am  glad  with  all  my  heart  he  is  out  of 
prison." 

My  aunt  frowned.  "You  are  too  forward, 
Dorothy,"  said  she.  "  Nobody  asked  your  opinion 
about  the  matter.  Young  ladies  should  be  seen, 
not  heard." 

"  Oh,  let  her  alone  !  I  like  to  hear  the  wench 
stand  up  for  her  friends,"  said  my  uncle.  "But 
you  are  not  a  Presbyterian,  are  you,  Dolly  ?  We 
can't  have  that,  eh,  Mr.  Morley  ? 

"No,  sir,  I  am  not  a  Presbyterian;  but  I  have 
had  good  friends  among  them,  as  you  say."  I 
answered. 

"  That's  well,  and  I  am  sorry  for  the  poor  things 
out  our  way,"  said  my  uncle  musingly.  "  I  do  think 
they  have  had  very  hard  measure,  very  needlessly 
hard ;  no  offence  to  you,  Mr.  Morley." 

"  I  cannot  take  offence  where  none  is  meant," 
said  Mr.  Morley.    "  You  know,  sir,  that  war  is  a 


152  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


rough  trade,  and  Col.  Kirke's  lambs  learned  it  in 
a  rough  school." 

"  True,  '  tis  a  rough  trade,  but  it  need  not  be 
made  rougher,"  said  my  uncle ;  and  he  began  to 
tell  one  tale  after  another  of  horror,  which  made 
me  sick.  Surely  Mr.  Morley  did  never  stain  his 
hands  with  such  cruelty.  He  has  always  seemed 
so  kind-hearted. 

After  dinner  my  aunt  took  me  to  task  sharply 
for  my  forwardness.  She  has  been  sharp  with  me 
several  times  of  late,  and  also  with  Betty ;  while 
she  is  very  tender  and  gentle  with  Margaret. 

September  3. 

Our  new  rector  preached  to-day,  —  a  very  fine 
sermon,  I  thought,  on  the  words,  "  He  that  be- 
lieveth  on  me  hath  everlasting  life."  I  saw  my 
aunt  look  displeased  at  some  passages,  but  Marga- 
ret drank  it  in  as  if  it  had  been  the  water  of  life. 
As  for  Betty,  I  fancy  she  never  listens  to  a  ser- 
mon, but  she  did  give  the  preacher  some  of  her 
attention  to-day. 

"  Well,  and  how  did  you  like  the  preacher?" 
said  my  uncle,  when  we  came  home. 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  liked  him,"  replied  my 
aunt.  "It  seems  to  me  that  his  doctrine,  if  re- 
ceived, would  make  room  for  all  sorts  of  immo- 
ralities. If  a  man  only  believes  right,  he  can  do 
whatever  wrong  he  pleases." 

"  Under  your  favor,  madam,  I  think  not  so," 
said  Margaret.    "  Do  you  not  see  that  any  one 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary. 


153 


who  in  his  heart  believes  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ 
must  needs  act  so  as  to  please  him  ?  Such  a  person 
would  make  a  conscience  of  his  very  thoughts, 
knowing  that  by  them  he  must  please  or  displease 
the  Holy  Ghost  dwelling  in  his  heart." 

"  That  is  rather  an  awful  thought,  Mrs.  Mar- 
garet," observed  Lord  Chesterton,  who  had  come 
to  dine  as  usual. 

"  Awful*  but  comforting,"  said  she,  giving  him 
one  of  the  sweet  smiles  she  bestows  on  him  nowa- 
days, and  which  make  him  flush  like  a  boy. 

"  Well,  well,  we  won't  debate  the  preacher  at 
present,"  said  my  aunt.  "  Go,  girls,  and  make 
ready  for  dinner." 

"  So  you  liked  the  preacher,"  said  I,  as  we  went 
up-stairs. 

"  Yes,  indeed"  she  answered  with  earnestness. 
"  I  think  he  hath  taken  the  last  stone  out  of  my 
road." 

I  did  not  understand  her,  and  there  was  no  time 
to  ask.  We  went  to  church  again  in  the  afternoon, 
but  we  heard  nothing  of  the  sermon ;  for  Meg 
fainted,  and  had  to  be  carried  into  the  vestry. 
She  revived  presently,  enough  to  be  taken  home 
in  the  coach  which  my  lord  sent  for;  but  she  has 
not  been  up  since,  and  looks  badly. 

September  6. 

Margaret  has  been  down  to-day  for  the  first 
time  since  her  fainting  on  Sunday,  but  she  looks 
pale.    My  aunt  makes  light  of  her  illness  to  her- 


154  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


self,  but  I  see  she  watches  her  very  closely.  Betty 
attends  on  her  like  her  shadow.  She  and  I  sleep 
together  now.  As  we  are  to  have  so  much  com- 
pany in  the  house,  my  room  will  be  needed  as  a 
guest-room.  As  we  were  going  to  bed,  I  be- 
thought me  to  tell  Betty  of  Meg's  words,  and  ask 
what  she  thought  they  meant. 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Betty.  u  I  don't 
pretend  to  understand  such  matters." 

"  I  think  Margaret  likes  Lord  Chesterton  better 
than  she  did,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,  I  said  as  much  to  her ;  and  she  told  me 
she  was  afraid  so,"  said  Betty. 

"  What  did  that  mean  ?  Why  should  she  be 
afraid  of  liking  her  bridegroom  too  well,"  I  asked. 
"  I  should  say  the  more  she  liked  him,  the  better." 

"  You  are  just  as  blind  as  all  the  rest,"  answered 
Betty  impatiently.  u  Can't  you  see  an  inch  before 
you?  I  don't  so  much  wonder  in  your  case,  but 
I  am  astonished  at  my  mother.  But  some  people 
never  will  believe  what  they  don't  like  to  believe. 
I  suppose  when  my  mother  sees  Margaret  in  her 
coffin,  she  will  understand  at  last." 

"  You  think  that  Margaret  is  seriously  ill,  then?" 
said  I,  startled. 

"  I  think  she  is  dying,  and  so  does  Sharpless," 
answered  Betty.  "  She  will  never  wear  her  bridal 
dress,  unless  she  is  buried  in  it." 

"But  why  should  you  think  so?  What  ails 
her  ?  " 

"  She  has  been  murdered!"  said  Betty,  setting 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  155 


her  teeth  hard ;  "  murdered  by  inches  with  tight 
lacing  and  late  hours,  and  physic  to  improve  her 
complexion,  and  all  the  rest  of  my  mother's 
regimen." 

"  Hush ! "  said  I.  "  You  should  not  say  so. 
Your  mother  means  nothing  but  what  is  right,  I 
am  sure." 

"Oh,  yes,  she  means!'''  retorted  Betty.  "She 
means  to  take  an  angel,  and  make  her  a  woman  of 
the  world ;  but  the  angel  has  grown  weary,  and  is 
pluming  her  wings  for  flight.  You  will  see,  if  you 
will  not  believe.  —  O  Meg,  Meg,  how  shall  I  ever 
live  without  thee ! "  And  with  that  she  burst 
into  tears,  and  wept  so  bitterly  that  my  aunt 
heard  her,  and  came  in  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 
I  told  her  that  Betty  was  grieved  about  her  sis- 
ter's health,  fearing  she  was  seriously  ill." 

"  Is  that  all  ? "  said  she,  but  not  unkindly. 
"  My  dear  child,  you  are  fanciful,  and  are  torment- 
ing yourself  to  no  purpose.  Do  you  not  see  that 
your  sister  is  better  already  ?  Do  but  notice  what 
a  sweet  flush  she  has  in  her  cheeks.  These  faint- 
ing-fits are  but  the  natural  agitation  of  spirits  at 
the  prospect  before  her.  A  month  hence  you  will 
see  your  sister  a  happy  bride,  and  then  you  will 
laugh  at  your  present  fears.  Come,  dry  your  eyes, 
and  go  to  bed,  and  all  will  be  well.  I  am  not  dis- 
pleased with  you,  child.    There,  good-night." 

I  was  glad  that  Betty  was  crying  too  much  to 
answer  her  mother  a  word,  for  I  am  always  afraid 
of  one  of  her  tantrums.    I  hope  she  is  mistaken, 


156  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


but  I  do  think  Margaret  is  more  out  of  health 
than  her  mother  imagines. 

I  can't  but  think  of  Betty's  words  about  making 
an  angel  into  a  woman  of  the  world.  Now,  the 
Scriptures  talk  all  the  way  through  as  though 
the  world  were  the  enemy  of  God,  —  even  going 
so  far  as  to  say  that  any  one  who  is  a  friend  of 
this  world  must  be  an  enemy  of  God.  And  yet, 
so  far  as  I  can  see,  my  aunt  lives  for  the  world : 
yes,  just  as  much  as  ever  my  mistress  did  ;  though 
one  cares  most  for  wealth,  and  the  other  for  fash- 
ion and  position.  And  I  don't  see  how  one  is  a 
bit  better  than  the  other.  My  aunt  will  bow  to, 
and  exchange  visits  with,  women  whom  it  is  impos- 
sible she  can  respect ;  she  will  even  abase  herself 
to  ask  favors  of  them  :  and  why  is  that  any  better 
than  the  doing  of  mean  things  for  money?  She 
does  seem  to  me  wholly  inconsistent.  She  gives 
us  a  book  like  "  The  Practice  of  Piety  "  or  "  The 
Divine  Breathings,"  1  —  books  inculcating  the  very 
soul  of  purity  and  consecration  to  God,  —  to  read 
in  the  morning ;  and  in  the  evening  she  takes  us 
to  see  a  play  which  turns  on  successful  wicked- 
ness, and  where  the  name  and  the  laws  of  God  are 
treated  with  equal  disrespect,  My  mistress  would 
read  the  Bible  and  Mr.  Baxter's  tractates  in  the 
morning,  and  spend  the  rest  of  the  day  over  her 
accounts,  or  in  exacting  the  last  halfpenny  of 


1  This  most  admirable  little  book  has  lately  been  reprinted  in 
this  country,  by  Young.  I  wish  some  one  would  do  as  much  for 
the  Practice  of  Piety,  which  is  now  very  rare. 


3frs.  Studley's  Diary.  157 


usury  from  some  poor  debtor.  And  I  don't  see,  for 
my  part,  why  one  is  a  bit  better  or  worse  than 
another.  My  mistress  talked  of  owing  it  to  her- 
self to  do  so  and  so.  My  aunt  talks  of  our  duty 
to  the  world  or  to  society,  which  is  only  another 
name  for  the  same  thing.  But  the  Bible  seems  to 
say  that  the  duty  we  owe  to  self  is  to  deny  it,  and 
the  duty  we  owe  to  the  world  is  to  renounce  it, 
and  to  labor  for  its  conversion.  Now,  Bab  An- 
drews really  has  given  up  the  world ;  and  so, 
according  to  Meg's  account,  hath  my  aunt  Lane- 
ham  ;  and  I  am  sure  the  Pendergasts  and  Mr. 
Baxter  did  not  live  for  it.  And,  from  what  Lord 
Chesterton  says,  I  should  think  his  mother  was 
much  such  a  lady  as  my  aunt  Laneham.  And  I 
am  sure  my  Lady  Clarenham  does  not  live  for  the 
world. 

And  there  is  another  thing.  My  aunt  goes  to 
church  and  to  the  holy  communion,  and  says  the 
Creed,  and  professes  to  believe  all  the  Prayer- 
Book  teaches ;  and  yet  she  is  not  only  willing,  but 
delighted,  to  give  her  daughter  to  a  man  like  Lord 
Chesterton,  who  is  an  open  unbeliever,  and  whose 
course  of  life  hath  been  somewhat  notorious,  be- 
cause he  is  of  great  family  and  heir  to  a  dukedom. 
No,  I  don't  understand  the  matter  at  all, 

September  12. 

Margaret  is  really  ill.  She  lies  in  bed  most 
of  the  day,  not  suffering  very  much,  except 
from  weakness  and  from  the  pain  in  her  right  side 


158  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

which  has  troubled  her  ever  since  I  knew  her.  I 
don't  know  just  what  the  doctor  thinks  ;  but  the 
wedding,  which  was  to  have  been  on  the  15th, 
is  necessarily  put  off.  My  Lord  Chesterton  is 
like  one  distracted,  coming  two  or  three  times 
a  day  to  ask  for  his  lady,  and  scouring  city  and 
country  for  fruit  and  flowers  and  any  thing  that 
can  give  her  pleasure.  I  never  thought  to  like 
him  half  so  well.  I  see  there  really  was  a  man 
hidden  behind  the  fop  and  courtier.  For  one 
thing,  he  hath  left  off  swearing  at  every  other 
breath ;  and,  when  a  hard  word  does  escape,  he 
looks  heartily  ashamed.  My  uncle  rallied  him, 
telling  him  he  was  growing  a  Puritan ;  whereat  he 
answered  that  he  would  turn  Quaker,  like  Will 
Penn,  if  it  would  please  his  mistress,  at  which  my 
uncle  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder  and  called  him 
a  good  fellow. 

September  15. 

It  was  to  have  been  the  wedding-day,  but  no 
one  says  a  word  about  weddings  now.  Only  my 
aunt  will  have  it  that  Meg  is  better,  which  no  one 
else  can  see. 

September  18. 

Meg  seems  a  little  brighter.  I  said  as  much  to 
Mrs.  Sharpless,  but  she  only  shook  her  head  and 
turned  away.  She  has  had  no  hope  from  the  first ; 
yet  she  is  the  most  cheerful  person  in  a  sick-room 
I  ever  saw,  more  so  even  than  dear  Mrs.  Williams. 
The  new  rector  hath  been  to  see  Meg,  at  her  re- 
quest, and  hath  read  and  prayed  with  her.  She 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


159 


seems  to  find  great  comfort  in  his  ministrations. 
He  is  rather  a  plain,  awkward  man,  but  I  must  say 
he  is  a  much  more  interesting  preacher  than  old 
Dr.  Martin.  He  hath  prayed  for  Meg  in  church. 
When  I  told  my  aunt  of  it,  thinking  she  would  be 
pleased,  she  was  not  so  at  all ,  saying  that  Marga- 
ret was  not  so  bad  as  that,  and  it  would  be  time 
to  pray  for  her  in  church  when  the  doctor  gave 
her  up. 

I  saw  Ursula  this  morning  in  church;  and,  as  we 
were  detained  a  little  in  the  porch  by  a  passing 
shower,  we  had  time  for  quite  a  chat.  She  looks 
rather  thin  and  worn,  I  think.  I  asked  her  if  she 
were  well. 

"  Yes,  well  enough,  if  that  were  all,"  she  an- 
swered pettishly,  and  then  asked  me  if  I  ever  saw 
Mr.  Morley.  I  told  her  he  was  acquainted  with 
my  uncle,  and  visited  at  our  house,  but  that  he 
was  soon  going  down  to  the  west  again. 

"Don't  you  see  him?"  I  asked. 

"No,  not  often,"  she  answered,  turning  scarlet, 
as  though  with  some  unpleasant  remembrance. 
"  Dolly,  whatever  you  do,  never  marry  a  jealous- 
pated  old  man." 

I  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  this,  so  I  asked 
after  Bab  Andrews. 

"She  is  well,"  was  the  reply;  "but  she  has 
taken  an  odd  crotchet  in  her  head  since  her  father 
died." 

"  Oh  the  good  old  man,  is  he  dead  ?  How 
sorry  I  am!"  said  I.    "Bab  will  be  very  lonely. 


160  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


But  what  do  you  mean  by  a  crotchet,  Ursula  ?  1 
did  not  think  Bab  was  given  to  them." 

"  No,  I  know  she  is  perfect  in  your  eyes,"  said 
Ursula.  "  Well,  she  hath  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  England  is  not  good  enough  for  such  a  saint 
as  herself:  so  she  is  even  going  to  leave  it,  and 
betake  herself  to  the  New  England  Colonies. " 

"She  told  me  once  she  thought  she  might  do  so, 
if  she  were  left  alone,"  said  I ;  "but  it  was  not  to 
New  England  she  talked  of  going,  but  to  some 
newer  colony  farther  to  the  south.  I  cannot  think 
of  the  name  now." 

"  Ah,  well,  it  does  not  matter  !  It  is  much  the 
same  thing.  I  can't  think  what  should  possess  her, 
for  she  is  left  very  well  off,  and  might  live  as  she 
pleased.  But  it  seems  Mr.  Fairchild's  sister  and 
her  husband  went  thither  a  year  ago,  and  she 
means  to  join  them.  And  so  Mr.  Morley  comes 
often  to  see  you,  Dolly  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  say  so,"  I  answered,  vexed  to  feel 
myself  blushing.  "  He  is  an  acquaintance  of  my 
uncle,  as  I  told  you." 

"Well,  don't  lose  your  heart  to  him,  lest  you 
should  find  he  hath  more  than  one  string  to 
his  bow,"  said  Ursula  with  an  ill-natured  laugh; 
but  the  rain  holding  up  there  was  no  more  time 
for  converse,  at  which  I  was  glad.  I  do  wish  I 
could  see  Bab  once  more. 

September  20. 

I  have  had  that  pleasure,  through  my  kind 
uncle's  intercession.    I  was  coming  down  stairs, 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


161 


when  my  aunt  called  me  into  her  room,  where  an 
elderly  serving-man  was  waiting,  whom  I  recog- 
nized at  once  as  living  with  Mr.  Andrews.  My 
aunt  held  a  note  in  her  hand. 

"  Dorothy,  do  you  know  Mrs.  Barbara  An- 
drews?'1 she  asked. 

"  Yes,  madam,"  I  answered:  "she  is  the  daugh- 
ter of  the  rich  goldsmith  wrho  died  not  long  ago." 

"  Oh,  I  know  him !  "  put  in  my  uncle.  "  He  lived 
in  Lombard  Street,  —  a  very  worthy  man  and  one 
who  was  of  service  to  his  late  Majesty  in  the  matter 
of  raising  money.  He  did  me  a  good  turn  once,  in 
the  same  way.  Yes,  yes,  I  remember  him. — And 
so  your  master  is  dead,"  addressing  himself  to  the 
serving-man.  "Well,  well,  I  am  sorry.  Did  he 
leave  any  family  ?  " 

"  One  daughter,  sir,"  answered  old  Andrew. 

"  It  is  this  young  lady  who  writes  to  me,  very 
properly  and  nicely  I  must  say,"  observed  my 
aunt.  "  She  tells  me  she  is  about  to  go  to  Amer- 
ica, and  asks  the  favor  of  a  day's  visit  from  Doro- 
thy." 

"And  you  would  like  to  go,  eh,  Dolly?  Your 
face  says  as  much,"  said  my  uncle. 

"Yes,  sir;  I  should  like  it  greatly,"  I  answered. 
"Mrs.  Andrews  was  the  only  friend  of  mine 
own  age  I  ever  had  till  I  knew  my  cousins." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  said  my  aunt.  "  I  am 
no  great  believer  in  girlish  intimacies;  but  as  this 
young  person  is  going  away  so  far  —  What  say 
you,  Sir  Robert?  " 


162 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


"  Oh,  let  her  go,  let  her  go ! "  said  my  uncle. 
"  Old  Mr.  Andrews's  daughter  is  sure  to  be  a  pat- 
tern of  all  the  graces,  eh?  "  addressing  himself  to 
the  serving-man,  who  answered,  — 

"  Mistress  Barbara  is  one  of  the  salt  of  the  earth, 
sir,  —  the  image  of  her  mother  now  in  glory." 

"  Well,  1  am  sure  I  hope  so,"  said  my  uncle,  in 
his  kindly,  blunt  fashion.  "Oh,  yes,  let  her  go, 
my  lady  !  She  hath  had  but  a  dull  time  lately. 
Let  her  go  to  please  me." 

This  is  my  uncle's  usual  plea  when  he  begs  us 
a  holiday,  and  my  aunt  never  refuses  him.  With 
an  indulgent  smile  she  bade  me  get  ready  to  go 
with  Andrew,  for  whom  she  ordered  a  cup  of  ale 
to  be  brought.  I  was  not  long  in  dressing,  and 
was  soon  on  my  way.  I  found  Bab  looking  much 
as  usual,  but  very  pretty  in  her  mourning.  The 
house  was  already  partly  dismantled ;  but  Bab's 
own  rooms,  her  bedroom  and  her  little  parlor,  were 
untouched. 

"Why,  this  is  a  pleasure  I  hardly  dared  expect! " 
said  she,  taking  off  my  hood  and  kissing  me  ;  "  but 
I  thought  I  would  not  fail  of  it  for  lack  of  ask- 
ing.   Your  aunt  must  be  a  kind  lady." 

"  She  is  so,  though  rather  strict  in  her  notions," 
I  answered;  "but  I  believe  we  owe  our  debt 
rather  to  my  uncle,  who  used  to  know  your  good 
father.    But  where  is  your  aunt  ?  " 

"  She  hath  taken  a  lodging  near  to  my  sister 
Staines  in  the  country,"  said  Bab.  "  She  would 
fain  have  lived  with  them,  but  my  brother  Staines 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary. 


163 


would  not  have  that.  He  told  Hester  he  would 
do  any  thing  for  aunt  Jones  except  live  with  her." 

"I  don't  blame  him,"  said  I. 

"So  he  has  fitted  up  this  cottage  for  her,  and 
Andrew's  sister  lives  with  her  to  attend  on  her," 
continued  Bab.  "I  hope  she  will  be  as  happy 
there  as  anywhere.  As  you  say,  Dolly,  I  do  not 
blame  my  brother  Staines  for  not  wanting  her  to 
spoil  his  children's  comfort  and  his  own.  But  oh, 
Dolly,  what  a  sad  sight  is  unloving  and  unlovely 
old  age  ! " 

"  It  is,  indeed,"  said  I,  thinking  of  my  mis- 
tress. "But  was  it  that  drove  you  to  seek  peace 
and  quietness  in  a  new  settlement  among  the 
Indian  savages  ?  " 

"Why  no,  not  exactly,  though  I  will  not  deny 
that  I  find  my  aunt's  absence  a  great  relief.  But 
my  aunt  Atherton,  my  mother's  sister,  is  left  quite 
alone  by  the  death  of  her  last  daughter ;  and  you 
know  I  always  professed  myself  fond  of  travelling : 
so,  as  some  friends  of  mine  are  going  out,  I  thought 
I  would  even  go  with  them,  and  try  my  fortune  in 
the  New  World." 

"  You  have  other  friends  there  beside  your  aunt, 
have  you  not?  "  I  asked  ;  whereat  she  told  me  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stacy,  who  had  gone  thither  the 
year  before,  and  read  me  a  letter  she  had  from 
Mrs.  Stacy.  If  I  did  not  know  her  to  be  one  of 
the  most  particular  persons  in  the  world,  I  should 
set  down  some  of  her  accounts  for  mere  traveller's 
tales ;  as,  that  the  people  go  a-gathering  of  their 


164  Through  TJnknoivn  Ways;  or, 


peaches  with  carts,  the  fruit  hanging  on  the  trees 
like  onions  in  ropes,  and  as  delicate  as  our  best 
wall-fruit,  and  cherries  by  the  cartload,  beside 
many  wild  fruits,  such  as  strawberries,  gooseber- 
ries, hurtleberries,  and  cranberries,  which  last  are 
admirable  for  tarts  and  sauces,  and  many  more  such 
particulars.1  Mrs.  Stacy  says  the  savages  about 
them  are  peaceable,  good  neighbors,  and  some  of 
them  are  Christians.  She  sent  Bab  a  long  neck- 
lace of  their  beads,  made  from  shells,  and  which 
they  use  as  money,  and  value  above  all  things. 
This  necklace  Bab  gave  me  for  a  remembrance. 
She  also  gave  me  a  watch,  a  toy  I  have  long  wished 
to  possess ;  and  this  is  a  very  pretty  one,  with 
a  gold  enamelled  case,  and  a  pretty  picture  on  the 
back.  I  had  spent  a  guinea  on  a  book  for  her, 
"  The  Imitation  of  Christ,"  by  Thomas  a  Kempis, 
—  which  Meg  values  more  than  any  book  in  her 
closet,  —  and  on  a  working-case  for  the  pocket,  a 
good,  sensible,  substantial  one,  which  I  thought 
she  might  find  useful. 

The  clay  was  all  too  short  for  what  we  had  to 
say;  and  now,  that  we  are  parted,  I  can  think  of  a 
hundred  question^  I  had  to  ask.  Bab  asked  me 
when  I  had  seen  Ursula,  and  I  told  her  of  our 
conversation  in  the  church  porch. 

"  I  fear  she  is  not  happy,"  said  Bab.  "  She  said 
as  much  to  me  as  that  she  was  sorry  she  did  not 
marry  Mr.  Morley." 

1  See  Robert  Stacy's  letters  quoted  in  the  Historical  Collec- 
tions of  New  Jersey,  —  a  very  valuable  book. 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  165 

"I  don't  believe  she  ever  had  the  chance,"  I 
said,  vexed  at  myself  for  being  vexed. 

"  I  am  not  sure.  He  was  very  devoted  to  her 
at  one  time,  but  Ursula  was  bent  on  making  a 
rich  marriage.  And  so,  no  doubt,  she  has;  but 
she  may  find,  as  many  another  hath  done,  that 
riches  do  not  bring  happiness.  There  are  many 
things  that  money  can't  buy." 

"  That  is  true,"  said.  I.  "  I  believe  Lord  Ches- 
terton would  give  any  thing  to  restore  poor  Meg 
to  health." 

"  Is  she  then  so  ill  ?  Tell  me  about  her,"  said 
Bab ;  and  so  I  did.  She  was  much  interested, 
and  asked  about  the  state  of  her  mind.  I  told 
her. 

"  The  dear  young  lady  ! "  said  Bab.  "  She  hath 
been  taught  of  God,  and  he  makes  her  way  easy. 
I  would  I  could  send  her  something  to  comfort 
her." 

"I  wish  she  knew  you;  you  would  just  suit 
each  other,"  said  I ;  and  I  do  really  think  so, 
though  Bab  would  not  go  inside  a  church  for  the 
world. 

While  I  was  there  a  ship's  captain,  an  old  friend 
of  her  father's,  sent  her  a  fine  hamper  of  melons 
and  grapes  from  Portugal;  and  nothing  would 
serve  but  she  must  put  up  some  of  the  finest  for 
Margaret.  We  parted  with  many  tears,  and  Bab 
promised  to  write  me  when  she  arrived  at  her  new 
home.  My  aunt  was  rather  displeased  with  me 
for  being  so  late,  but  relented  when  she  saw  the 


166  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


beautiful  fruit  Bab  had  sent  to  Margaret.  She 
was  pleased,  also,  to  commend  my  watch,  and  to 
say  that  Mrs.  Andrews  seemed  a  kind-hearted 
girl,  and  one  of  a  good  taste  and  fancy.  She 
especially  admired  the  lace  kerchief  and  cap  of 
her  own  work  which  Bab  gave  me,  saying  they 
were  neatly  done  and  very  prettily  fancied. 

"See  there,  Betty,"  said  she ;  "you  might  work 
as  well  as  that  if  you  would  have  patience  and 
take  time." 

"I  suppose  Mrs.  Andrews  likes  such  work," 
said  Betty. 

"  I  don't  think  she  is  so  very  fond  of  it,"  said  I ; 
"  but  her  father  was  fond  of  seeing  her  work,  and 
Bab  would  do  any  thing  to  pleasure  her  father." 

"  And  Betty  will  not  do  every  thing  to  pleasure 
her  mother,"  said  my  aunt. 

"That  is  not  quite  true,  mother,"  answered 
Betty  ;  and  I  saw  she  was  moved,  by  her  using  the 
word  which  she  seldom  does.  "  I  would  do  any 
thing  I  could  do  to  please  you  when  you  put  it  in 
that  way ;  but  when  people  talk  of  doing  things 
because  the  world  expects  it,  and  because  society 
demands  it,  I  do  not  care  a  fig,  and  that  is  the 
truth.  I  never  made  any  promises  to  the  world, 
only  to  renounce  it." 

I  expected  my  aunt  would  be  displeased,  as  she 
generally  is  at  Betty's  outbreaks,  but  she  did  not 
seem  to  be. 

"  Then,  my  daughter,  will  you  not  try  to  please 
your  father  and  mother?  and  we  will  say  nothing 


Mrs.  Studied s  Diary.  167 


about  your  bugbear  of  the  world,"  said  she.  "  I 
begin  to  fear  that  you  will  soon  be  my  only 
daughter,  and  I  am  growing  old.  Will  you  not 
try  to  comfort  your  mother,  child  ?  " 

Betty  was  at  her  mother's  feet  in  a  moment ;  and 
I,  thinking  it  best,  stole  out  and  left  them  together. 
I  do  wonder,  seeing  how  easily  Betty  is  touched 
by  petting  and  indulgence,  that  my  aunt  should 
not  try  it  oftener.  If  I  read  Betty  aright,  she  is 
one  to  be  led  rather  than  driven. 

September  20. 

The  doctor  says  Margaret  must  have  change  of 
air;  and  the  duke,  my  Lord  Chesterton's  uncle, 
has  offered  for  her  benefit  a  small  house  he  hath 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Richmond,  and  we  shall 
remove  thither  next  week,  giving  up  this  house, 
as  my  uncle  intends  going  down  to  Devon  as  soon 
as  Meg's  health  renders  it  possible.  I  am  pleased 
with  the  prospect,  for  I  have  never  lived  in  the 
real  country.  The  only  thing  Meg  regrets  is 
losing  the  ministrations  of  Mr.  Newington,  our 
new  rector,  who  has  been  such  a  comfort  to  her ; 
but  he  says  he  will  come  to  visit  her,  and  tells  her 
that  she  will  like  the  rector  there,  who  is  a  friend 
of  his.  The  house  whither  we  are  going  is  all  in 
order,  so  we  shall  have  little  trouble. 

My  uncle  hath  had  an  attack  of  dizziness,  the 
blood  rushing  to  his  head  so  as  to  make  him  all 
but  senseless  for  a  few  minutes.  He  makes  light 
of  it ;  but  I  see  he  drinks  no  more  strong  ale  or 
Burgundy  wines,  but  contents  himself  with  small 


168 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


beer,  claret,  and  the  like.  I  do  hope  nothing  will 
happen  to  him. 

October  1,  Cross  Park. 

We  came  down  to  this  lovely  place  almost  a 
week  ago.  Meg  bore  the  journey  very  well,  and 
even  enjoyed  it,  especially  after  we  got  fairly  out 
of  the  city,  and  she  seems  better  since  we  came ; 
she  has  even  walked  a  little  on  the  terrace,  from 
whence  is  a  most  lovely  prospect,  and  she  has 
eaten  with  a  little  more  appetite.  My  aunt  is 
once  more  full  of  hope,  and  talks  about  setting 
the  wedding-day  soon ;  but  I  don't  think  Sharpless 
has  any  hope. 

Mr.  Morley  has  gone  down  to  the  west  about 
some  business  for  the  king,  who,  it  seems,  shows 
him  great  favor.  He  came  to  see  us  before  he 
left,  and  told  my  uncle  in  parting  that  he  hoped 
to  see  him  soon  again  on  most  important  business. 
He  looked  at  me  as  he  spoke,  and  smiled  mean- 
ingly. I  do  wonder  whether  there  is  any  thing  in 
what  Bab  said  about  Ursula's  refusing  him.  He 
ever  said  to  me  that  he  did  not  like  her  at  all, 
though  as  his  cousin  he  must  needs  pay  her  some 
attention.  Heigho !  It  is  very  delightful  to  feel 
that  one  is  loved,  and  to  love  in  return  ;  )ret  me- 
thinks  love  doth  bring  much  disquiet  in  its  train. 
My  aunt  says  I  am  growing  thin,  and  will  have 
me  take  milk  and  cream  ;  and  I  know  my  spirits 
are  more  variable  than  ever  they  were  before. 
But  I  try  to  put  my  own  concerns  aside,  that  I 
may  be  a  comfort  to  Betty,  who  does  not  in  the 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary. 


169 


least  believe  in  her  sister's  amendment ;  nor,  I 
must  say,  do  I.  I  remember  how  my  poor  friend 
Emma  looked,  and  she  revived  in  the  same  way 
just  before  the  last. 

This  is  a  most  lovely  place.  The  house  is  old, 
with  many  passages  and  odd  corners,  and  with 
much  oak  wainscot,  which  makes  it  rather  dark ; 
but  there  are  plenty  of  windows,  and,  as  the  ex- 
posure is  to  the  west  and  south,  we  have  abun- 
dance of  sun.  The  park  is  small,  and  so  are  the 
gardens,  but  both  are  very  pretty.  Especially 
pleasing  to  Meg  is  the  view  of  the  parish  church, 
which  is  very  small  and  old,  and  overgrown  with 
splendid  ivy.  It  stands  in  the  midst  of  the  church- 
yard, wherein  is  a  broken  stone  cross,  said  to  be 
of  great  antiquity.  The  rector  is  an  old  and 
white-haired  man,  of  great  dignitj^  of  manners, 
and  a  sweet,  but  somewhat  sorrowful,  face.  He 
hath  already  visited  Meg,  who  likes  him  greatly. 

Lord  Chesterton  has  taken  a  lodging  near  by, 
and  comes  to  see  his  lady  eveiy  day.  I  never  saw 
a  man  so  changed.  He,  who  used  to  say  life  was 
not  worth  having  away  from  the  court  and  the 
theatres,  is  now  content  to  spend  day  after  clay 
in  this  quiet  place,  sitting  by  Meg's  arm-chair, 
or  giving  her  his  arm  along  the  terrace  in  the 
short  walk  she  takes  every  pleasant  day.  He 
even  reads  the  Scriptures  to  her,  as  she  sits  in 
the  sunny  window  of  the  hall.  His  very  face 
seems  changed.  He  and  Meg  have  many  long 
talks  together,  on  which  no  one  intrudeSc    I  do 


170  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


think  Meg  is  learning  to  love  him,  and  I  cannot 
wonder. 

My  aunt  will  have  Betty  and  myself  go  for  a 
walk  every  day ;  and  we  have  explored  all  the 
nooks  and  corners  of  the  park,  which,  though  not 
large,  is  varied,  with  little  hills  and  dells.  In  one 
of  these  latter  is  a  beautiful  great  spring,  over 
which,  in  olden  times,  someone  lias  built  a  little 
shrine,  with  a  seat,  and  an  inscription  of  which  I 
can  make  out  only  one  word,  "  Pray,"  —  I  sup- 
pose an  invitation  to  pray  for  somebody's  soul. 
The  shrine  is  all  in  ruins,  but  the  spring  gushes 
forth  clear  and  sparkling  as  ever.  The  old  house- 
keeper says  it  is  accounted  good  for  a  waste,  and 
Meg  has  taken  a  fancy  that  it  tastes  better  than 
any  other :  so  I  often  go  early  in  the  morning  to 
bring  her  a  jugful],  that  she  may  drink  it  the  first 
thing. 

This  same  housekeeper  —  Mrs.  Mary  Miles  — 
is  a  clear  old  soul.  Instead  of  being  vexed  at  the 
increase  of  her  trouble  from  our  coming,  she  is 
greatly  pleased,  —  makes  all  sorts  of  dainty  dishes 
with  her  own  hands  to  tempt  Meg's  appetite,  and 
is  always  filling  Betty's  pocket  and  mine  with 
sugarplums  and  comfits,  which  she  has  great  skill 
and  equal  pleasure  in  preparing.  It  seems  the 
good  rector  is  her  cousin. 

October  15. 

Our  dear,  precious  Meg  is  dead  and  buried. 
She  died  just  one  week  ago,  and  was  buried  yes- 
terday in  the  churchyard  here,  just  under  the 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary. 


171 


walls  of  the  little  gray  church.  It  was  at  her  own 
request  that  she  was  laid  there,  instead  of  being 
taken  down  to  the  family  burying-place  in  Devon. 
She  had  been  quite  bright  for  two  or  three  days, 
even  coming  once  to  the  dinner-table.  That  after- 
noon she  sent  for  Lord  Chesterton,  and  had  a  long 
private  talk  with  him,  and  afterward  with  her 
mother.  I  came  into  the  room  unwittingly  to  * 
bring  Margaret  some  late  violets  I  had  found  in 
the  garden ;  and  as  I  did  so  I  heard  my  aunt  say, 
in  a  somewhat  forced  tone  of  cheerfulness,  "  Dear 
daughter,  you  are  fanciful.  The  doctor  says  you 
are  better.  We  hope  you  may  be  able  to  be 
married  before  long." 

"  But  something  here  tells  me  a  different  story," 
said  Meg,  laying  her  hand  on  her  heart.  "  Dear 
mother,  will  you  not  promise  that  it  shall  be  as  I 
desire  ?    That  can  do  no  harm." 

•"Oh,  yes,  I  promise!"  said  my  aunt;  "but  I 
shall  see  you  go  thither  to  be  married  first." 

I  could  not  but  think  of  the  words,  "None  so 
blind  as  those  that  won't  see ;  "  but  my  poor  aunt 
was  soon  undeceived.  Betty  was  worn  out,  and 
lay  down,  but  I  did  not:  I  felt  so  sure  that  some- 
thing would  happen  before  morning.  It  was  a 
mild,  bright,  moonlight  night,  with  a  soft,  inter- 
mittent breeze  sighing  among  the  trees.  The 
sound  did  remind  me  of  soft,  downy  wings  hover- 
ing near ;  and,  as  the  cloud-shadows  passed  over 
the  grassy  slope,  I  almost  fancied  them  the  shad- 
ows of  those  same  wings.    It  was  just  at  the  turn 


172  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


of  the  night  when  I  heard  Sharpless  come  quickly 
out  of  Margaret's  room  and  knock  at  my  aunt's 
door.  Betty  heard  it,  too,  and  was  up  in  an  in- 
stant. When  we  went  in,  we  found  Meg  sitting 
up  in  bed,  her  head  supported  on  her  father's 
breast.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  with  a  strange,  mys- 
terious brightness,  as  on  some  wonderful  and  glo- 
•  rious  sight ;  while  on  her  face  lay  —  ah,  how  well 
I  knew  it !  —  that  awful  gray  shadow  that  never 
falls  but  once,  —  the  shadow  cast  by  the  wing  of 
death.  She  never  looked  at  us  as  we  came  in,  or 
showed  any  consciousness  of  our  presence,  till  her 
mother,  taking  her  cold  hand,  said  tenderly,  — 

"Dear  love,  what  do  you  gaze  at?" 

"  Angels,"  whispered  Margaret,  "  bright  angels." 

"  Don't  disturb  her,"  said  my  uncle  hoarsely. 
"  Let  her  be." 

We  stood  round  in  silence,  till  the  old  white- 
haired  vicar,  whom  Mrs.  Miles  had  sent  for, 
kneeled  down,  and  said  the  commendatory  prayer. 
Then  all  at  once  Meg  reached  out  her  hands  with 
a  bright,  happy  smile,  as  of  a  tender  little  babe  that 
sees  its  mother  coming. 

"  I  am  ready,  —  take  me ! "  she  said,  and  in  a 
moment  she  was  gone. 

My  poor  aunt  fainted,  and  revived  only  to  fall 
into  fits  of  the  most  violent  weeping.  I  do  think 
she  was  almost  as  much  shocked  as  if  Meg  had 
been  taken  in  perfect  health.  She  had  so  per- 
suaded herself  that  her  daughter  must  get  well 
because  she  willed  it  so.    Betty  was  like  one 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary. 


173 


turned  to  stone.  I  could  hardly  get  her  out  of 
the  room  ;  and  she  was  so  strange,  that  I  almost 
feared  for  her  reason.  At  last,  however,  I  won 
her  to  tears,  and  she  wept  herself  to  sleep.  I 
could  not  sleep ;  and  as  it  grew  light  a  little  I 
went  down  to  walk  on  the  terrace,  that  the  cool 
air  might  refresh  my  hot  forehead.  I  had  been 
there  but  a  few  minutes,  when  Lord  Chesterton 
came  up  the  avenue,  riding  at  full  speed,  his  horse 
all  in  a  foam,  and  his  groom  hardly  able  to  keep 
up  with  him.  He  flung  himself  from  his  horse, 
—  which,  poor  beast,  was  only  too  willing  to 
stand,  —  and  caught  me  by  the  hand. 

"Am  I  too  late,  after  all?"  he  asked;  and, read- 
ing the  truth  in  my  face,  he  strode  hastily  away-  to 
the  other  end  of  the  terrace,  where  he  threw  him- 
self on  a  seat,  and  wept  like  a  little  child.  I  took 
it  upon  me  to  bid  the  groom  take  his  horses  to 
the  stables.  Then  I  stood  a  moment  or  two  uncer- 
tain what  to  do,  not  liking  to  intrude  on  the  poor 
gentleman's  grief,  nor  yet  to  leave  him  alone.  At 
last  he  seemed  to  calm  himself  in  some  measure, 
and  rose  from  the  seat  where  he  had  thrown  him- 
self, and  I  went  to  meet  him. 

"  Tell  me  how  was  it,"  he  said.  "  Why  did  no 
one  send  for  me  ?  " 

I  told  him  there  was  no  time,  —  that  my  aunt 
had  apprehended  no  immediate  danger,  nor  even 
the  doctor. 

"  Ay,  none  so  blind  as  those  that  won't  see," 
said  he,  using  the  very  words  I  had  applied  to  my 


174  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or. 


aunt  in  my  own  mind.  "  Did  you  think  she  was 
going  to  get  well  ?  " 

I  told  him  no ;  that  I  had  had  little  hope  from 
the  beginning,  and  I  knew  Meg  had  thought  for  a 
long  time  that  she  should  die  young. 

"  She  was  an  angel,  a  white  dove,"  said  my  lord  ; 
"  and  God  hath  taken  her  home  lest  she  should 
smirch  her  fair  plumage  by  contact  with  such  a 
carrion  kite  as  I  have  been  all  my  life.  But  I  am 
a  changed  man,  Dorothy,"  he  added,  pressing  my 
hand  with  a  force  that  almost  made  me  scream. 
"  My  dearest  Margaret  hath  showed  me  the  way, 
and  gone  before  me;  and,  by  God's  grace,  the 
poor  remainder  of  my  days  shall  be  passed  as  she 
would  have  it.  Oh,  my  beauty,  my  pearl !  "  And 
with  that  he  fell  to  weeping  again,  and  I  could 
but  weep  with  him.  At  last  I  persuaded  him  to 
come  into  the  house  and  take  some  refreshment, 
and  then  to  lie  down  on  the  settle  and  rest. 
Surely,  if  darling  Meg's  short  life  had  been  the 
means  of  redeeming  this  one  soul,  she  hath  not 
lived  in  vain.  I  am  sure  that  is  more  than  I  have 
ever  done.  But  I  am  going  to  try  to  be  a  better 
girl. 

Meg  was  buried  yesterday.  She  had  especially 
desired  that  there  should  be  no  pomp  or  parade 
about  the  funeral,  but  that  the  expense  should  be 
bestowed  upon  the  poor  of  the  parish,  —  specially 
that  each  old  woman  of  the  almshouses  by  the 
church-gate  should  have  a  warm  gray  gown,  and 
each  of  the  villager's  children  a  new  frock  of  dark 


Mrs.  Studied s  Diary. 


175 


blue.  The  little  things  lined  the  path  from  the 
churchyard  gate  to  the  grave ;  and  after  the  coffin 
was  lowered  they  threw  upon  it  flowers  and 
sprigs  of  yew,  till  it  was  quite  hidden  with  them. 
The  day  was  a  lovely  one,  the  sun  setting  in  great 
pomp  of  crimson  and  gold  ;  and  a  clear  little  robin, 
perched  on  one  of  the  church-windows,  sang  all 
through  the  service.  Betty  fainted  when  the 
earth  first  fell  on  the  coffin,  and  hath  been  but 
poorly  ever  since,  though  she  makes  brave  efforts 
to  keep  up,  and  devotes  herself  to  waiting  on  her 
mother. 

I  can't  help  wondering  whether  my  aunt  will 
go  back  to  the  same  course  of  life  again,  as  soon 
as  her  mourning  is  ended.  I  hope  not,  for  Betty's 
sake.  I  am  sure  of  one  thing  :  my  aunt  never 
could  drive  Bess  into  marrying  any  one  she  did 
not  like.  She  would  run  away,  or  do  something 
desperate.  She  is  made  of  very  different  stuff  from 
Margaret. 

October  18. 

My  uncle  is  in  some  trouble.  I  don't  know 
what,  but  it  is  something  connected  with  money. 
From  what  little  I  hear,  I  fancy  he  hath  been  spec- 
ulating, as  so  many  do  nowadays,  and  hath  been 
unlucky.  He  is  dejected  in  spirits  and  does  not 
look  well. 

My  Lord  Chesterton  hath  taken  leave  of  us, 
going  home  to  the  north  to  visit  his  mother,  who 
it  seems  lives  all  alone  in  the  old  family  mansion. 
The  poor  little  cousin  is  dead,  so  he  is  really  the 


176  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


next  heir  to  the  dukedom.  I  hope  I  am  not  un- 
charitable, but  I  do  think  it  no  small  addition  to 
my  aunt's  grief,  to  think  that  she  cannot  now 
be  mother-in-law  to  a  duke.  She  is  fretful  and 
low,  and  it  is  no  easy  matter  to  please  her.  I 
think  she  misses  the  diversion  of  her  town-life, 
—  the  visiting  and  play-going  and  parks.  I  miss 
them  too,  I  must  say,  for  I  had  grown  fond  of 
them,  especially  of  the  theatre ;  but,  then,  I  like 
being  in  the  country,  and  running  about  out  of 
doors,  which  my  aunt  does  not.  I  heard  her  tell 
Mrs.  Petty,  who  came  to  give  us  a  visit  of  condo- 
lence, thit  she  should  be  inconsolable  but  for  the 
thought  that  she  had  done  every  thing  for  the  wel- 
fare of  her  dear  daughter.  And  yet  I  know  that 
the  doctor  said  that  Margaret's  illness  and  death 
were  in  a  great  measure  owing  to  her  tight  dressing. 
He  said  her  ribs  had  actually  grown  into  her  liver. 
He  said,  too,  that  a  great  many  growing  girls  are 
killed  in  that  way,  and  added,  using  some  strong 
language,  that  he  would  like  to  burn  every  pair  of 
steel  stays  in  the  land.  And  yet  my  aunt  is  just 
as  particular  as  ever  about  our  lacing  ourselves. 
Now,  I  should  be  but  a  poor  creature  without  my 
stays,  having  always  worn  them,  but  I  will  not 
have  them  very  tight.  Luckily,  I  am  naturally  a 
firm,  tight  figure,  so  my  aunt  does  not  find  me  out. 

October  20. 

My  uncle  tells  us  we  are  to  get  ready  to  go 
down  to  Devon  in  two  weeks.    Till  then,  by  the 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  177 

duke's  kindness,  we  remain  here.  To-day  came 
from  London  beautiful  presents  from  Lord  Ches- 
terton for  Betty  and  myself;  namely,  two  minia- 
ture portraits  of  dear  Meg,  done  from  the  one  he  had 
made  for  himself  before  we  left  town.  They  are 
incased  in  gold,  and  set  with  small  brilliants,  and 
suspended  each  on  a  pretty  gold  chain.  He  hath 
sent  Mrs.  Sharpless  a  noble  Bible  and  Prayer- 
Book  in  large  print,  and  a  gift  of  money  for  each 
of  the  other  servants.  The  pictures  are  very  fine 
likenesses.  My  aunt  was  much  pleased,  and  lauds 
him  to  the  skies,  and  then  weeps  again  that  her 
dearest  Meg  should  have  been  taken  away  just 
when  she  had  such  a  prospect  of  rank  and  hap- 
piness. But  I  can't  think  Meg  will  care  a  great 
deal  about  missing  an  earthly  coronet  where  she  is 
now. 

Somehow  my  aunt  seems  to  me  to  live  so  on  the 
outside  of  things.  But  I  need  not  say  any  thing. 
I  have  tried  very  hard  to  be  good  since  Meg  died. 
I  have  read  the  Bible,  and  said  my  prayers,  and  all 
that ;  but  all  seems  dead  and  lifeless.  Half  the 
time,  when  I  am  saying  the  words  with  my  lips, 
my  mind  is  occupied  with  some  play  I  have  seen, 
or  I  am  going  over  and  over  again  every  talk  I 
ever  had  with  Mr.  Morley.  I  do  wonder  when 
he  is  coming  back.  He  said,  at  parting,  that  he 
should  not  be  gone  many  days. 

This  morning  Mrs.  Miles  asked  me  if  I  would 
take  my  walk  down  to  the  vicarage,  and  carry  to 
the  rector  some  confection  of  quince  seeds  whick 


178  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


she  lias  been  making  for  his  throat;  and  I  was 
glad  of  an  errand  to  go  thither  for  I  have  learned 
to  love  the  old  gentleman.  He  lives  in  great  sim- 
plicity, with  an  old  couple  for  servants,  who,  I 
fancy,  carry  things  pretty  much  their  own  way. 
We  fell  into  talk  about  my  former  way  of  life,  and 
I  mentioned,  I  know  not  how,  the  name  of  Mr. 
Baxter. 

'4Ah,  my  good  old  friend!  Did  you  know 
him  ?  "  lie  asked ;  and  on  my  saying  that  I  did,  and 
had  often  met  him,  — 

"  We  were  college  mates  and  the  best  of  friends 
once,"  said  he,  sighing,  "but  our  paths  led  differ- 
ent ways.  We  studied  divinity  together ;  but  lie 
was  the  more  confirmed  in  his  notions,  while  I  found 
myself  obliged  to  change  mine.  The  worst  is  that 
my  old  Presbyterian  friends  will  not  believe  that 
I  joined  the  Church  of  England  from  pure  con- 
viction, but  will  persist  in  thinking  that  I  had  an 
eye  to  worldly  advantage ;  though,  would  they  but 
visit  me,  they  would  see  for  themselves  that  the 
proverbial  church  mouse  is  no  poorer  than  I  am." 

44 1  would  not  think  Mr.  Baxter  could  be  so 
prejudiced,"  said  I.  "He  seemed  such  a  good 
man,  and  he  was  always  so  kind  to  me." 

"  He  is  a  good  man,  and  could  not  be  otherwise 
than  kind  to  one  in  your  hard  position.  But  he  is 
a  man  of  strong  feelings  and  deep  convictions,  and 
he  hath  suffered  much  in  what  he  believes  the 
cause  of  truth.  And  besides,"  he  added,  smiling, 
"  I  dare  say  he  thinks  of  his  old  chum  as  a  purse- 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary. 


179 


proud  priest  rolling  in  riches.  But  I  believe  that 
some  day  we  shall  meet  when  all  these  clouds  will 
have  passed  away,  and  all  true  lovers  of  their  Lord 
will  see  eye  to  eye,  and  know  as  they  are  known." 

He  then  began  to  tell  me  of  a  poor  young 
widow  whose  two  little  children  were  but  scantily 
off  for  clothes,  and  asked  me  to  interest  my  aunt 
for  them.  I  promised  I  would  try  to  do  so,  and 
said  if  aunt  were  willing,  and  I  could  buy  some 
suitable  woollen  yarn,  I  would  knit  some  warm 
hosen.  Whereupon  he  told  me  of  another  poor 
woman,  a  spinster,  who  lives  at  the  other  end  of 
the  village,  and  supports  herself  by  her  wheel  and 
her  needle,  and  said  he  thought  she  would  be  glad 
to  sell  me  some  wool.  He  seems  to  know  the  cir- 
cumstances and  wants  of  every  poor  person  in  the 
parish.  I  do  think  the  duke  might  augment  his 
living,  and  make  the  vicarage  at  least  water-tight. 
I  think  a  few  hundred  pounds  might  as  well  be  laid 
out  in  that  way  as  in  paying  for  copies  of  Mr. 
Lely's  pictures  of  court  beauties.  I  know  that 
Lord  Chesterton  gave  Mr.  Miles  a  present,  and 
money  for  new  altar-cloths  and  a  new  chalice,  in 
memory  of  his  mistress. 

October  22. 

My  aunt  consenting,  Betty  and  I  got  the  direc- 
tion from  Mr.  Miles,  and  walked  to  see  the  woman 
who  had  the  yarn  to  sell,  Mercy  Lane  by  name. 
We  found  her  living  in  the  tiniest  little  cottage, 
standing  alone  by  itself,  all  neat  and  in  good 
repair,  and  surrounded  by  a  garden,  wherein 


180 


Through  Unknoivn  Ways;  or, 


grew  pot-herbs  and  vegetables,  gooseberry  and 
currant  bushes,  and  two  or  three  large  apple 
and  pear  trees,  and  also  a  fine  nut-tree.  The  good 
woman  was  within,  sitting  at  her  wheel,  in  blue 
homespun  gown  and  apron,  and  a  snow-white  ker- 
chief and  cap.  She  has  been  handsome  in  her 
day,  and  is  still  a  comely  woman.  Her  kitchen 
was  as  clean  and  neat  as  a  new  trencher,  as  Mrs. 
Williams  used  to  say ;  and  a  small  wood  fire  made 
it  look  still  more  cheery.  On  a  form  near  this  fire 
sat  three  or  four  little  children  conning  their 
horn-books,  who  jumped  up  and  let  off  quite  a 
little  battery  of  bobs  and  courtesies  at  us.  I 
never  saw  a  prettier  sight. 

The  good  woman  received  us  with  all  kindness, 
setting  stools  for  us,  and  sending  one  child  for  a 
jug  of  fair  water  from  the  spring,  and  another  on 
some  other  whispered  errand.  We  told  her  what 
had  brought  us  to  see  her,  on  which  she  produced 
quite  a  store  of  very  nice  yarn.  I  bought  enough 
for  two  pairs  of  little  hose,  telling  her  what  it  was 
for.    She  seemed  much  pleased. 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  said  she.  "  Martha  Giggs  is 
a  worthy  woman,  and  does  all  she  can  to  help  her- 
self, but  her  health  is  not  good.  This  is  one  of 
the  children,"  she  added,  calling  to  her  side  one 
of  her  pupils,  a  little  curly,  flaxen-headed  mite, 
whether  boy  or  girl  I  could  not  tell,  till  the 
creature,  with  much  blushing  and  poking  of  its 
chin  into  its  neck,  said  its  name  was  "  Merthy." 

"  She  is  my  god-daughter,"  explained  our  hostess. 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary. 


181 


"And  you  keep  a  little  school,"  said  Betty. 

"But  a  very  small  one,  madam.  These  are  all 
young  children,  as  you  see,  and  I  can  do  little  but 
keep  them  out  of  mischief;  in  winter  I  have  a 
class  of  larger  girls.  I  have  but  little  learning 
myself ;  but  I  make  shift  to  teach  them  to  read 
their  Bibles,  to  sew  and  to  spin,  and  to  say  their 
Belief  and  Commandments.  I  could  have  many 
more  if  I  had  room  for  them." 

"  Is  there  no  village  school  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,  madam.  Mr.  Miles  has  tried  to  prevail 
with  the  duke  to  build  one,  but  without  success 
hitherto." 

Again  I  thought  of  that  picture-gallery.  Pic- 
tures are  all  very  well,  no  doubt ;  but  surely  these 
little  living  images  of  God  are  worth  as  much  as 
they,  and  likely  to  outlast  them  by  a  good  many 
years. 

"  And  what  do  your  pupils  pay  you,  if  I  may 
ask  ?  "  inquired  Betty,  more  interested  than  I  have 
seen  her  about  any  thing  since  Meg  died. 

"  Surely,  madam,"  answered  Mercy.  "  The  lit- 
tle ones  —  those  who  are  able  —  pay  a  half-penny 
a  week,  the  elder  girls  a  penny.  Then  I  now  and 
and  then  get  presents  at  holiday  time.  Last  Easter 
one  farmer's  wife  sent  me  a  fine  setting  of  auk 
eggs  to  put  under  my  hen,  and  they  have  all  done 
well.  The  duke's  steward  allows  me  the  privilege 
of  gathering  dry  sticks  and  pine-cones  in  the  park, 
and  the  children  like  nothing  better  than  to  help 
me  about  it.    Then  I  have  a  good  market  for  my 


182  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

yarn,  and  my  apples  and  nuts  bring  me  something 
in  fruitfulyears." 

"  And  what  rent  do  you  pay  ?  "  asked  Betty.  I 
wondered  at  the  question,  for  she  does  not  use  to 
be  so  inquisitive.  In  that  she  differs  from  me, 
who  am  a  bit  of  a  gossip. 

"No  rent,  madam,"  answered  Mercy,  with  a 
little  gentle  pride.  "  The  place,  such  as  it  is,  is 
mine,  as  it  was  my  father's  before  me." 

"I  wonder  you  never  married,"  said  I,  but 
repented  of  my  thoughtless  words  when  I  saw 
how  her  face  flushed  and  her  lip  trembled.  "  I 
crave  pardon,"  I  added :  "  I  was  very  rude." 

"  There  is  no  need,  madam,"  said  Mercy  with  a 
smile.  "I  was  betrothed  once,  but  my  sweetheart 
was  carried  away  to  serve  in  the  king's  army,  and 
I  never  saw  or  heard  of  him  again." 

"  How  very  sad ! "  we  both  said ;  and  Betty 
added,  "  Worse  than  if  you  had  known  him  to  be 
killed." 

"  Yes,  the  suspense  was  dreadful,  but  it  is  over 
now,"  said  she  calmly.  ".I  know  if  he  had  been 
alive  he  would  have  come  back  to  me  somehow ; 
and  I  have  the  assurance  in  my  heart  that  he  is  at 
rest,  for  he  was  ever  a  godly  man." 

"  I  think  you  are  a  happy  woman,  Mercy,"  said 
Betty  abruptly. 

"  And  you  think  truly,  my  dear  young  lady," 
answered  Mercy  with  her  sweet  smile.  "  I  am  a 
happy  woman.  I  have  a  small  provision  laid  by 
for  my  old  age,  my  health  is  good,  and  I  have  the 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  183 


comfort  of  knowing  that  I  am  useful  to  my  little 
ones  and  my  neighbors.    If  I  had  a  wish  "  — 

"  Well,  if  you  had,"  said  Betty,  as  she  paused. 

"  It  would  be  to  see  a  good  school  set  up  in  this 
village,  to  keep  the  lads  and  maids  from  running 
wild  as  they  do.  But  I  hope  that  may  come  in 
time." 

We  rose  to  take  our  leave ;  but  Mercy  would  have 
us  sit  while  she  feasted  us  on  pears,  and  gathered 
for  us  a  nosegay  of  late  flowers  from  her  garden. 
Mrs.  Miles  had  filled  our  pockets  with  almond  com- 
fits after  her  usual  fashion,  and  we  treated  the 
children  to  them.  I  suppose  they  never  saw  any 
before,  but  they  soon  found  out  the  use  of  them. 

"  That  is  a  happy  woman,  Dolly,"  said  Betty, 
as  we  were  walking  homeward. 

u  She  is  a  contented  woman,  at  any  rate,"  I  re- 
plied, "  and  a  useful  one,  to  boot." 

"  She  is  a  happy  woman,"  persisted  Betty.  "  I 
would  I  were  as  happy.  She  makes  me  think  of 
Lady  Jemima  Stantown,  with  her  family  of  young 
orphan  ladies  about  her.  I  always  thought  I 
would  like  to  live  in  that  way." 

"  You  would  not  like  to  be  as  poor  as  Mercy,  to 
wear  a  homespun  blue  gown,  and  live  upon  a  shil- 
ling a  week?  " 

"  Mercy  is  rich  on  a  shilling  a  week.  Did  you 
not  hear  her  say  she  had  laid  by  something?  As 
to  the  blue  homespun,  I  would  as  soon  wear  that 
as  any  thing.    I  don't  care  about  dress." 

"  But  yon  would  not  like  to  spin  for  a  living," 


184  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


and  live  on  brown  bread  and  stirabout,  with  a  bit 
of  meat  on  Sundays  and  festivals." 

"  I  would  not  care,"  persisted  Betty.  u  I  don't 
think  these  outside  things  have  much  of  any  thing 
to  do  with  happiness  or  unhappiness." 

But  I  think  I  should  care.  I  do  like  pretty 
things  and  nice  things  and  to  go  to  the  play  now 
and  then.  And  then  that  sad  tale  about  her  lover  : 
I  am  sure  I  never  could  be  happy  again  if  such  a 
thing  were  to  happen  to  Mr.  Morley.  I  wish  he 
would  come  back. 

October  25. 

I  do  think  I  am  the  happiest  girl  in  all  the 
world.  Mr.  Morley  has  asked  me  in  marriage  of 
my  uncle,  and  he  hath  consented,  provided  that 
inquiries  respecting  Mr.  Morley's  character  and 
prospects  should  turn  out  satisfactory.  I  am  not 
afraid  of  that.  My  uncle  cannot  expect  a  rich 
bridegroom  for  me,  seeing  I  have  nothing  of  mine 
own  ;  and  every  one  says  Mr.  Morley  is  high  in 
favor  with  the  king. 

My  aunt  would  have  kept  the  matter  from  me 
till  all  was  settled,  I  believe  ;  but  my  uncle  blurted 
all  out,  as  his  way  is.  I  am  glad  of  it.  I  would 
not  lose  one  minute  of  my  new-found  joy.  I  can 
hardly  believe  in  it  even  yet.  My  uncle  goes  to 
London  to-morrow,  and  I  suppose  will  make  all 
needful  inquiries. 

I  can't  help  wishing  *Mr.  Morley  were  not  an 
unbeliever,  but  perhaps  I  may  be  able  to  bring 
him  round  as  Meg  did  Lord  Chesterton. 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


185 


My  aunt  is  much  pleased  at  my  prospects.  She 
has  always  liked  Mr.  Morley.  Only  she  wishes 
my  uncle  could  give  me  a  suitable  dowry.  He 
would  do  so,  only  that,  as  I  learn  for  the  first  time, 
he  hath  had  great  losses  of  late,  so  that  he  is  some- 
what cramped  for  ready  money.  As  it  is,  how- 
ever, aunt  says  I  shall  have  a  wedding  outfit 
suitable  to  my  quality,  and  it  shall  go  hard  but 
she  will  raise  a  small  sum  for  my  private  purse. 
Betty  says  little,  only  that  she  shall  be  sorry  to 
part  with  me.  She  always  saw  with  Meg's  eyes  ; 
and  for  some  reason  I  never  could  understand, 
Meg  always  disliked  Mr.  Morley. 

I  wonder  where  we  shall  live.  In  town,  I  sup- 
pose, and  at  the  court  end,  as  Mr.  Morley  has  a 
place  in  the  household.  I  hope  we  shall  have  a 
pleasant  lodging.  I  shall  like  the  ordering  of  my 
own  little  family,  only  I  wish  I  knew  more  about 
it.  But  I  know  I  can  learn,  and  I  shall  not  think 
any  thing  hard  that  I  do  for  my  husband.  Thomas 
a  Kempis  says  a  lover  ought  willingly  to  under- 
take any  thing  hard  or  distasteful  for  his  beloved. 
I  am  sure  I  would  do  that  for  Mr.  Morley,  and  I 
believe  he  would  do  as  much  for  me. 

October  22. 

My  aunt  and  uncle  have  been  gone  two  days, 
but  are  expected  back  to-night.  I  have  had  a  talk 
with  Mr.  Morley  which  troubles  me,  though  I  dare 
say  without  reason.  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  to 
entertain  for  a  moment  a  thought  so  derogatory 


186  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


to  him.  I  dare  say  he  was  only  vexed  because 
Ursula  deceived  him. 

The  way  was  this.  Betty  was  not  well  this 
morning,  and  kept  her  bed,  for  a  wonder.  She 
was  thirsty  and  feverish,  and  at  last  said  she 
wished  she  had  a  glass  of  fair  water  from  Meg's 
fountain. 

"  I  will  bring  you  some,"  said  I.  "  It  will  take 
me  but  a  few  minutes  to  go  and  come,  and  my 
aunt  will  not  be  vexed,  seeing  what  my  errand  is." 
For  my  aunt  had  bidden  us  remain  within  doors 
while  she  was  away. 

I  saw  that  Betty  was  pleased,  though  she  made 
some  objection,  and  said  I  could  send  one  of  the 
maids.  However,  I  could  find  no  one  at  the  min- 
ute ;  so  I  even  threw  on  my  long  cloth  cloak, 
pulled  the  hood  over  my  head,  and  set  out  myself. 
The  spring  is  in  rather  a  lonely  place,  —  a  little 
dell,  green  and  mossy,  and  surrounded  on  all  sides 
by  high  wooded  banks.  It  is  not  greatly  fre- 
quented, because  of  some  story  of  an  apparition,  — 
some  forlorn  lady  who  killed  herself  for  love.  I 
am  not  a  bit  afraid  of  the  ghost;  but,  as  I  dipped 
my  jug  into  the  basin,  I  heard  a  man's  step  behind 
me,  and  turned  in  a  hurry,  to  see  Mr.  Morley.  He 
greeted  me  in  his  usual  kind  fashion,  but  seemed 
perturbed  and  distraught.  He  asked  for  my  uncle ; 
and  I  said  he  had  not  yet  returned  from  town,  but 
we  expected  him  that  night. 

"  No  matter,"  he  replied  abruptly ;  and  then, 
after  a  little  pause,  "  Dolly,  do  yon  know  whether 


Mrs.  Studley^s  Diary. 


187 


your  fortune  hath  been  involved  in  your  uncle's 
losses  ?    Was  it  in  his  hands  ?  " 

"I  know  it  was  not,  for  the  best  of  reasons," 
said  I.  My  fortune,  such  as  it  is,  is  safe  in  my 
own  hands.'' 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  'My  face  is  my  fortune,  sir,  she  said,' "  I  an- 
swered him,  singing  the  line  of  the  old  song,  and 
making  him  a  saucy  little  courtesy,  for  I  felt  in 
good  spirits.  "I  would  it  were  finer  for  your 
sake."    He  stared  at  me  like  one  amazed. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  ha\e  no  fortune?" 
he  asked. 

"  Not  a  shilling,"  I  answered  ;  and  then  bethink- 
ing myself  I  added,  "I  suppose  I  should  have  three 
hundred  pounds  if  I  could  get  it,  but  there  is  not 
the  least  likelihood  of  that." 

"  But  Ursula  Robinson  told  me  you  had  had  a 
fortune  come  to  you,"  he  stammered,  "  and  that 
was  the  reason  your  uncle  and  aunt  had  taken  you 
up,  though  they  took  no  notice  of  you  while  you 
were  poor." 

"  I  don't  know  why  she  should  have  said  or 
thought  so,"  I  answered  coolly  ;  for  I  was  growing 
vexed  in  my  turn.  "  My  aunt  adopted  me  out  of 
pure  kindness  and  love  for  her  sister's  child.  She 
never  knew  of  my  existence  till  she  heard  of  me 
through  Lady  Clarenham.  I  am  sorry  if  you  have 
been  deceived,  but  it  has  been  none  of  my  doing." 
And  with  that  I  took  up  my  jug,  and  turned  to 
go. 


188  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


" But  are  you  sure?"  he  asked  again,  walking 
along  with  me.  "  Perhaps  your  aunt  has  thought 
best  to  keep  the  matter  from  you." 

"I  am  quite  sure,"  I  answered.  "My  aunt 
said  but  yesterday  that  my  uncle  had  hoped  to 
give  at  least  a  thousand  .pounds  with  me,  but  that 
owing  to  his  late  losses  it  would  not  be  possible 
for  him  to  do  so.    Did  he  not  tell  you  so  ?  " 

"Yes,  but  I  thought —  However,  it  does  not 
matter.  I  have  been  grossly  deceived,  and  that  is 
the  end  on't." 

"  You  cannot  say  that  I  deceived  you,  since  you 
never  asked  me  a  question  on  the  subject,"  said  I. 
"  If  you  doubt  my  word,  you  had  better  ask  my 
uncle." 

"  Don't  go,  don't  leave  me  in  anger,  Dolly," 
said  he  as  I  turned  away.  "I  am  not  angry  with 
you,  and  yet  "  — 

"  I  must  not  stay.  My  aunt  would  be  very 
angry  if  she  knew  I  met  you,"  I  answered  ;  and 
breaking  away  from  him  I  hurried  into  the  house. 
When  I  came  into  Betty's  room,  she  asked  me  if  I 
had  seen  the  ghost  of  the  blind  nun,  that  I  was  so 
pale.  I  told  her  no,  but  that  I  had  seen  a  strange 
man  who  frightened  me,  and  so  I  had  hurried 
home. 

"  You  should  not  have  gone  out,  Mrs.  Dorothy," 
said  Sharpless.  "  Your  aunt  will  be  displeased, 
if  she  hears  it." 

"It  was  all  my  fault,  —  asking  for  the  water," 
said  Bess. 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


189 


"  There  is  no  great  harm  done,"  I  answered, 
making  light  of  the  matter.  "  My  aunt  will  not 
scold  me  when  she  knows  why  I  went.  I  dare 
say  the  poor  man  meant  no  harm." 

"  Very  likely  he  only  meant  to  beg." 

"  I  dare  say,  but  I  must  go  and  change  my  shoes, 
Betty,"  said  I,  glad  to  seize  the  first  excuse  to  get 
away.  "  The  grass  in  that  dell  is  always  wet,  I 
think." 

I  escaped  to  my  own  room,  and  sat  down  to 
think;  but  the  more  I  turn  the  matter  over  in  my 
mind,  the  less  I  am  able  to  come  to  any  con- 
clusion. 

October  23. 

Mr.  Morley  has  not  been  here.  It  is  very 
strange.  My  uncle  had  a  letter  to-night,  over 
which  I  heard  him  storming  and  fuming  at  a  great 
rate  in  my  aunt's  room,  calling  someone  a  scoun- 
drel and  other  hard  names,  with  many  oaths  and 
expletives.  My  aunt  seemed  moved  too,  by  the 
tone  of  her  voice.  I  was  waiting  to  see  her,  to  tell 
her  what  I  did  yesterday.  I  find  the  more  per- 
fectly frank  and  open  I  am  with  her,  the  better  we 
agree.  I  was  standing  at  the  farther  window  of 
the  gallery,  to  which  I  had  moved  not  to  overhear 
the  talk  in  my  aunt's  room.  When  she  came  out, 
her  color  was  raised,  and  there  were  traces  of  tears 
about  her  eyes,  which  I  was  surprised  to  see  ;  for 
she  does  not  usually  mind  my  uncle's  tantrums. 

"What  are  you  doing  here  Dorothy?"  she 
asked* 


190  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

I  told  her  I  was  waiting  to  speak  with  her.  She 
asked  what  was  the  matter;  and  I  told  her,  only 
I  did  not  repeat  what  Mr.  Morley  had  said. 

"  And  you  are  sure  you  did  not  go  on  purpose 
to  meet  him?  "  she  asked  somewhat  sharply ;  and 
then,  relenting,  "  But  no,  that  is  not  like  my  frank, 
simple-hearted  Dolly.  Only  you  know,  my  love, 
it  is  much  better  for  young  ladies  to  do  exactly 
as  they  are  bid.  There,  I  am  not  angry,  but  I 
would  rather  you  did  not  go  out  to-day." 

She  looked  at  my  work,  and  praised  its  neat- 
ness, asked  how  my  knitting  progressed,  and  dis- 
missed me  with  a  kiss  and  her  blessing.  I  can't 
understand  her  manner,  nor  my  uncle's  way  of 
looking  at  me,  but  I  am  glad  they  are  not  angry 
with  me.  They  have  certainly  been  very  good. 
I  suppose  Ursula  Jackson  could  not  understand 
such  disinterested  kindness,  and  so  coined  this 
tale  to  account  for  it.  No  wonder  Mr.  Morley 
was  angry  with  her.  I  hope  he  will  have  had 
enough  of  her,  that  is  all. 

October  24. 

It  is  all  over.  Life  is  done  for  me,  and  I  only 
wish  it  were  done  in  good  earnest.  But  people 
can't  die  when  they  like,  unless  they  kill  them- 
selves, and  I  have  too  much  conscience,  or  too 
little  courage,  for  that.  I  shall  never  believe  in 
any  one  again. 

This  morning  I  was  about  to  sit  down  to  my 
music,  which  I  have  taken  up  again  at  my  aunt's 
request,  when  Mary  Mathews  came  to  say  that 


Mrs.  Studley^s  Diary. 


191 


my  aunt  required  my  presence  in  her  room. 
(Mary  was  out  of  a  place  when  my  mistress  went 
to  the  Bath,  and  my  aunt  took  her  on  my  recom- 
mendation, and -means  to  carry  her  down  to  Devon 
with  us.)  I  wondered  what  could  be  the  matter, 
for  my  aunt  never  interrupts  our  study  hours 
without  grave  cause,  and  on  my  way  down-stairs 
and  through  the  gallery  I  tried  to  think  whether 
I  had  done  any  thing  to  merit  her  displeasure  ; 
but  I  could  remember  nothing  save  my  walk, 
which  she  knew  of  already. 

I  found  my  uncle  and  aunt  sitting  side  by  side 
in  my  aunt's  dressing-room.  My  uncle  had  a 
letter  in  his  hand.  They  both  kissed  and  blessed 
me  ;  my  uncle  adding,  as  it  were  to  himself,  "  Poor, 
pretty  wretch,  I  had  as  soon  be  hanged  as  tell  her! 

The   villain,  would  I  but  had  his  neck 

under  my  boot-heel !  " 

"  Do  not  excite  yourself,  Sir  Robert,"  said  my 
aunt  gently.  "  Our  dear  Dorothy  hath  too  much 
proper  pride  and  self-respect  not  to  treat  the 
matter  as  it  deserves." 

"  Oh,  yes :  pride  and  self-respect  are  all  very 
well!    There,  sit  down,  child." 

He  pushed  a  chair  toward  me;  and  I  took  it, 
wondering  what  would  be  coming  next.  But  I 
never  guessed,  never  had  a  thought  of  the  im- 
pending blow. 

"  Well,  child,  you  must  needs  know,  —  but  how 
to  tell  you  —  There,  take  the  letter  and  read  it. 
That  I  should  ever  have  taken  such  a  creeping 


192  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


adder  into  my  family!  There,  read  it,  poor 
wench !  " 

"  And  then  treat  the  writer  with  the  contempt 
and  scorn  he  deserves,"  added  my 'aunt.  "  There 
are  others  who  will  appreciate  our  clove-gilli- 
flower,  if  he  does  not." 

(My  uncle  sometimes  calls  me  by  that  name, 
because  I  am  so  dark.) 

I  read  the  letter  over,  but  somehow  I  did  not 
at  first  take  a  sense  of  it.  The  writer  said  that, 
finding  he  had  been  deceived  in  respect  to  the 
private  fortune  of  Mrs.  Dorothy  Corbet,  and  not 
being  in  a  condition  to  marry  a  portionless  wife, 
however  worthy  in  other  respects,  he  must  decline 
the  honor  of  the  young  lady's  alliance.  The  letter 
concluded  with  some  commonplace  expressions  of 
respect,  and  was  signed  Philip  Morley. 

"  Well,"  burst  forth  my  uncle,  as  I  looked  up 
from  the  letter ;  "  is  not  this  a  fine,  craven  cock 
we  have  chosen  for  a  bridegroom  for  our  Dorothy? 
He  has  done  well  to  run  for  it.  I  would  have  slit 
his  nose  for  him,  and  I  will,  too,  if  he  comes  within 
my  reach." 

"  No,  no  !  "  said  my  aunt.  "  Much  better  treat 
him  with  the  contempt  he  deserves.  —  Think  you 
not  so,  my  love  ?  " 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  I. 

"She  has  not  taken  in  the  matter,"  said  my 
aunt,  "and  no  wonder.  Read  the  letter  again, 
my  love." 

I  did  so,  and  saw  it  all. 


Mrs.  Studies  Diary.  193 


"  How  did  Morley  get  this  idea  of  your  having 
a  fortune  ?  "  asked  my  uncle. 

"  Don't  tease  her  with  questions  now,  my  dear," 
said  my  aunt  kindly.  "  She  is  in  no  state  to 
answer  you." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  said  I.  I  was  in  a  strange  state  of 
mind.  I  comprehended  the  whole  matter,  but  it 
seemed  to  me  as  if  it  related  to  somebody  else 
than  myself,  —  somebody  I  was  very  sorry  for,  but 
whom  I  could  talk  of  quite  quietly.  "  I  know  be- 
cause he  told  me.  He  said  Mrs.  Ursula  Jackson, 
his  cousin,  told  him ;  and  I  dare  say  she  did." 

"  But  how  should  she  get  the  notion  ?  " 

I  told  him  what  I  thought,  adding  that  Ursula 
was  apt  to  take  up  fancies  about  people,  and  then 
repeat  them  for  facts. 

"  She  must  be  a  nice  woman,"  observed  my 
uncle.  "  Well,  my  maid,  you  take  the  loss  of 
your  bridegroom  more  quietly  than  I  expected.  I 
thought  you  were  in  love  with  his  very  shadow." 

"  My  Dorothy  has  too  much  proper  spirit,  and 
has  been  too  well  brought  up,  to  fix  her  affections 
on  any  man  without  the  leave  of  her  guardians," 
said  my  aunt.  "'Tis  a  great  mortification,  no 
doubt,  but  far  better  than  if  she  had  married  so 
unworthy  a  person.  I  am  glad  it  has  all  hap- 
pened here  instead  of  in  town.  Mr.  Morley  will 
hold  his  tongue  for  his  own  sake,  and  no  one 
outside  the  family  need  know  any  thing  of  the 
matter." 

"  The  miserable,  cowardly  hound  has  sneaked 


194  Through  Unknown  Ways  ;  or, 


off  to  Scotland  on  some  errand  for  his  Majesty," 
said  my  uncle. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  returned  my  aunt.  "  We 
shall  go  down  to  Devon  next  week ;  and  Dolly  will 
have  enough  to  divert  her,  and  make  her  forget 
this  unworthy  man.  —  There,  go,  my  love,  to  your 
own  room,  if  you  like,  and  compose  your  spirits." 

"  And  we  will  find  you  a  better  bridegroom," 
said  my  uncle ;  "  some  gallant,  honest  Devon 
man,  worth  a  hundred  of  these  court  fops  and 
coxcombs.  There,  Heaven  bless  thee,  dear  wench  ! 
You  have  been  a  dutiful  child  to  us,  and  a  good 
sister  to  her  that's  gone  ;  and  you  shall  never  want 
a  home  while  I  have  a  shilling,  or  a  roof  over  my 
head." 

My  aunt  kissed  me  also,  and  called  me  a  good 
girl,  and  said  kindly  that  she  was  most  grateful  to 
Lady  Clarenham  for  bringing  her  to  the  acquaint- 
ance of  so  good  a  niece.  I  left  the  room,  still 
with  that  strange  feeling  of  pitying  myself  as  if  I 
were  somebody  else.  I  even  sat  down  to  the  harpsi- 
chord again,  and  played  through  the  lesson  of  scales 
I  had  begun,  as  steadily  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened ;  but,  as  I  stooped  to  take  up  another  piece 
of  music,  it  proved  to  be  a  song  which  Mr.  Morley 
and  I  had  often  sung  together.  Then  it  all  came 
to  me.  I  threw  it  down  as  if  it  had  burned  me, 
and  escaped  to  my  room.  My  aunt  sent  to  know 
if  I  would  come  to  dinner,  or  if  she  should  send 
me  something.  I  told  Mary  to  thank  her,  but  said 
I  would  come  down. 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary.  195 


"Are  you  not  well,  Mrs.  Dolly  ?  "  said  Mary. 

"I  have  a  headache,"  I  answered,  with  perfect 
truth ;  "  but  I  shall  feel  better  to  go  about  a 
little." 

Mary  came  to  the  table,  and  began  to  dust  the 
books  with  her  apron.  When  she  left  the  room,  I 
saw  that  she  had  laid  my  Prayer-Book  open  at  the 
Twenty-seventh  Psalm.  The  dear,  good  soul 
thought  to  comfort  me,  no  doubt.  I  remember 
how  she  used  to  betake  herself  to  her  Prayer-Book 
and  Bible  to  calm  her  spirits  after  my  mistress 
had  been  abusing  her  in  one  of  her  horrid  fits  of 
ill-temper.  She  must  have  known  or  guessed  that 
I  was  in  some  trouble. 

But  I  can't  comfort  myself  in  that  way.  Per- 
haps I  might,  if  things  were  different.  If  Mr. 
Morley  had  been  killed  in  the  rebellion,  for  in- 
stance, I  don't  think  I  should  have  minded  nearly 
as  much.  Then  I  could  have  had  the  comfort  of 
remembrance  ;  but  now  —  Oh,  if  I  could  only 
forget ! 

October  28. 

My  aunt  praises  me  much  for  the  way  in  which, 
as  she  says,  I  bear  my  trouble.  She  says  she  sees 
plainly  that  I  do  not  mean  to  let  this  man's  shadow 
darken  my  life.  But  it  is  not  his  shadow  at  all. 
It  is  the  shadow  of  a  man  who  never  had  an  exist- 
ence, save  in  mine  own  imagination.  It  is  not 
that  he  is  dead,  but  that  he  never  lived.  My  aunt 
says  the  thought  of  his  unworthiness  ought  to 
comfort  me,  but  there  is  just  the  sting :  it  is  just 


196 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


his  vileness  and  un worthiness  that  I  mourn  over. 
It  seems  to  me  now,  that  I  could  willingly  have 
parted  with  him,  if  I  could  have  kept  on  believing 
in  him. 

My  aunt  called  Betty  and  myself  into  her  room 
this  morning,  in  order,  as  she  said,  to  explain  to 
us  certain  family  matters.  I  don't  even  now  under- 
stand just  how  it  is,  only  that  my  uncle,  induced 
by  the  representations  of  some  business-man  in 
whom  he  had  confidence,  did,  without  consulting 
his  wife,  and  against  the  advice  of  his  old  lawyer 
and  agent  in  Exeter,  put  all  his  spare  cash  into 
this  man's  hands  to  embark  in  some  trading  ven- 
ture which  was  to  bring  in  a  golden  harvest  of 
guineas.  But  the  bubble  hath  burst,  and  the 
blower  thereof  hath  run  away  to  America,  where 
I  hope  the  Indian  savages  may  take  and  scalp  him  ; 
and  my  uncle,  from  being  rich,  has  become  com- 
paratively poor.  True,  he  has  his  landed  estate, 
and  happily  he  has  no  debts  of  any  amount ;  and 
my  aunt  thinks  that  by  letting  his  fine  mansion, 
which  it  seems  he  can  do  to  good  advantage,  and 
retiring  to  a  smaller  house  which  belongs  to  my 
aunt,  he  may,  in  the  course  of  a  few  years,  be 
relieved  from  all  his  embarrassments. 

I  was  much  pleased  to  notice  that  my  aunt  did 
not,  in  all  she  said,  cast  one  word  of  blame  or 
reflection  upon  her  husband,  though  he  acted  with- 
out her  knowledge  and  against  her  known  wishes, 
she  being  ever  against  speculation,  and  although 
—  so  Sharpless  tells  me  —  a  good  deal  of  the  lost 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


197 


money  was  of  her  bringing.  Methinks  such  for- 
bearance shows  real  greatness  of  soul.  I  cannot 
endure  to  hear  married  people  complaining  of 
each  other,  as  Ursula  Jackson  does  of  her  hus- 
band to  everjr  one  she  can  get  to  hear  her. 

As  Betty  said  nothing,  and  my  aunt  seemed  to 
expect  some  one  to  speak,  I  asked  where  this 
house  lay. 

"  It  is  not  very  far  from  Exeter.  The  name  of 
the  estate  is  Lady  Hill,"  answered  my  aunt. 

"  What  an  odd  name  !  "  I  remarked. 

44  There  was  once  a  small  convent  on  the  spot, 
whereof  the  ruins  still  remain,"  answered  my 
aunt.  "  The  house  is  not  large,  but  convenient ; 
and  there  is  land  enough  to  serve  your  uncle  for 
an  occupation.  We  shall  not  need  nearly  as  many 
servants  as  at  Fullham,  which  will  be  one  advan- 
tage, and  we  must  settle  whom  to  keep.  My  own 
woman,  Mrs.  Brown,  leaves  this  next  month  to  be 
married,  so  she  tells  me." 

"  Then,  madam,  why  should  you  not  take 
Sharpless  to  be  your  own  woman  ?  "  asked  Betty. 
44  Dolly  and  I  can  wait  on  and  dress  each  other, 
can1 1  we,  Dolly?" 

44  Yes,  indeed,  I  should  think  so,  seeing  I  never 
had  a  waiting-woman  in  my  life  till  I  came  here 
to  live,"  I  answered.  44  And,  aunt,  I  think  you 
would  find  Mary  Mathews  a  very  careful  and 
efficient  housemaid ;  and  Betty  and  I  will  be  your 
gentlewomen,  so  you  will  have  three  instead  of 
one." 


198  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

"  Oh,  yes,  that  will  do  nicely  !  "  said  Betty,  with 
more  interest  than  I  have  seen  her  show  since 
Meg's  death.  "  And  Dolly  will  play  and  sing  to 
my  father  of  an  evening,  and  I  will  play  chess 
with  you,  dear  mother,  and  read  to  you  in  your 
favorite  chronicles ;  and  we  will  be  happy  in  our- 
selves, and  let  the  world  give  us  the  go-by  if  it 
likes." 

My  aunt's  eyes  overflowed  for  the  first  time. 
"  My  dear,  good  girls,"  said  she,  giving  a  hand  to 
each,  and  drawing  us  near  to  her :  "  how  happy  it 
makes  me  to  see  you  take  things  in  this  way  !  " 

"  There  would  be  little  use  in  sitting  down  to 
lament  for  spilled  milk,"  said  Betty.  "  No  doubt 
my  father  acted  for  the  best,  however  he  was  mis- 
taken." 

"That  I  am  sure  he  did,"  said  my  aunt.  "I 
am  sorry  for  your  sakes,  more  than  my  own,  that 
I  cannot  give  you  the  benefit  of  another  London 
season." 

"So  am  not  I,"  said  Betty.  "I  hate  London  as 
much  as  my  father  does.  I  would  rather  live  at 
that  place  in  the  Mendip  hills,  where  the  sun  does 
not  rise  till  ten  of  the  clock  in  midsummer." 

"You  should  not  interrupt  your  mother,  my 
love :  that  is  rude,"  said  my  aunt,  but  without  the 
displeasure  she  usually  shows  on  these  occasions. 
"  I  was  going  to  say  that  I  hoped  we  should  not 
be  quite  out  of  the  world,  since  we  are  so  near 
Exeter,  where  there  is  very  good  society  among 
the  church  dignitaries.    I  hope  to  see  you  both 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary. 


199 


well  established  in  the  world  yet,  for  all  that  has 
come  and  gone.  There,  go  now,  my  dears,  and 
send  Sharpless  to  me ;  she  has  been  a  most  faithful 
servant,  and  is  worthy  of  all  confidence." 

"  Oh,  yes,  the  world,  the  world,  always  the 
world!  "  said  Betty  discontentedly.  "I  wish  one 
could  get  away  from  the  world." 

"  You  would  like  to  go  into  a  nunnery  then," 
said  I,  as  we  sat  ourselves  down  to  our  embroidery. 

u  I  am  not  sure  that  I  should,  by  any  means," 
said  Betty.  "  I  should  want  to  know  more  about 
the  matter  first.  I  have  a  fancy  that  the  little 
world  of  a  convent  may  be  just  as  worldly  as  the 
great  world  outside,  and  perhaps  harder  to  deal 
with,  seeing  that  one  would  be  shut  up  to  it.  If 
I  have  to  deal  with  a  wolf  or  a  snake,  I  would 
rather  have  him  in  the  field  than  in  my  chamber." 

"  I  have  noticed  one  thing  in  Thomas  a  Kempis," 
said  I :  "  he  is  as  full  of  warning  against  ambition, 
pride,  envy,  and  so  forth,  as  if  he  had  been  writing 
for  the  court  instead  of  a  convent."  1 

"  But  would  you  like  to  go  into  a  convent, 
Dolly?"  asked  Betty. 

"No,"  I  answered  abruptly,  "not  unless  I 
could  leave  my  memory  at  the  gates.  I  would 
rather  be  like  Mrs.  Petty,  going  to  the  park  every 
afternoon,  and  the  play  or  a  ball  every  night,  and 
sleeping  till  noon  next  day ;  or  even  like  old  Lady 

1  This  is  the  case  with  all  the  conventual  books  of  devotion 
(and  they  are  many)  which  I  have  read.  See  the  life  of  Saint 
Theresa,  by  herself,  for  a  fine  example. 


200 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


Carewe,  going  to  church  in  the  morning,  and 
playing  at  cards  all  the  rest  of  the  day.  One 
might  chance  to  forget  sometimes  in  that  way." 

"  You  would  not  find  any  comfort  in  such  a 
life,"  said  Betty,  laying  down  her  work,  and  look- 
ing at  me  with  eyes  full  of  pity  and  love.  "The 
gayest  must  have  their  hours  of  reflection,  even 
in  this  world.  Sickness  and  old  age  and  death 
come  to  all,  and  then  there  is  what  comes  after ; 
there  are  no  plays  or  balls  or  cards  there,  I  fancy. 
And  beside,  Dolly,  dear,  it  might  have  been  worse  : 
you  might  have  married  him,  and  found  him  out 
when  it  was  too  late." 

"  You  don't  understand,  none  of  you  under- 
stand," I  cried  passionately.  "I  am  not  thinking 
about  myself,  but  about  him  —  him,  —  that  he  should 
be  so  unworthy.  If  he  had  died  like  Meg,  if  he  had 
been  lost  like  Mercy  Lane's  sweetheart,  it  would 
not  have  been  half  so  bad.  But  that  he  should  be 
what  he  is,  and  that  I  can  do  nothing  to  help  him, 
nothing ! " 

"  But  God  can,"  said  Betty  softly.  "  He  heard 
dear  Meg's  prayers  for  Lord  Chesterton.  Why 
don't  you  pray  for  him  ?  " 

"I  can't,"  I  answered.  "It  seems  as  if  he  had 
mocked  me  already.  I  asked  him  to  give  me  Mr. 
Morley,  and  see  how  it  hath  turned  out.  Bab 
Andrews  prayed  for  her  lover,  and  he  died  a 
shameful  death,  after  all.  She  asked  for  his  life, 
but  it  was  not  given  her." 

" '  He  asked  of  thee  life,  and  thou  gavest  him  a 


Mrs.  Sludley's  Diary. 


201 


long  life,  even  for  ever  and  ever,'  "  said  Betty  sol- 
emnly. "Is  not  that  in  the  Psalms?  When  Bab 
and  her  lover  look  back  from  eternity  at  their 
troubles  here,  I  don't  believe  they  will  seem  so 
very  long  or  hard." 

"  Her  case  was  not  mine,"  said  I.  "  There  is 
no  use  in  talking  to  you.  You  were  never  in 
love." 

Betty  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then 
began  to  try  and  divert  me  by  telling  me  about 
Devon.  I  knew  she  meant  kindly,  and  I  tried  to 
listen,  and  insensibly  I  did  become  interested. 
Betty  is  glad  we  are  going  to  Lady  Hill,  which 
she  likes  better  than  Fullham,  because  there  is 
such  a  lovely  park  and  garden  ;  though  Fullham 
house  is  quite  a  palace,  by  all  accounts.  I  shall 
be  glad  of  the  journey,  at  all  events.  We  are  to 
stay  two  or  three  clays  in  London,  where  we  hope 
to  meet  my  Lord  Chesterton,  who  has  been  kept  by 
some  matters  of  business.  I  am  sure  I  hope  we 
shall  not  meet  Mr.  Morley ;  but  my  uncle  thinks 
he  has  gone  to  Scotland. 

November  5,  London, 
Guy  Fawkes  Day,  but  there  were  no  bonfires, 
they  being  forbidden  by  the  king,  which  makes 
people  look  strangely  on  each  other.  Already  mass 
is  said  openly  at  Whitehall  and  other  places,  and 
the  court  swarms  with  priests,  especially  Jesuits. 
The  king's  determination  to  dispense  with  the  test 
act,  and  the  dismissal  of  Lord  Halifax  from  office, 
cause  much  murmuring  even  among  the  strongest 


202 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


partisans  of  the  king.  So  says  Lord  Chesterton, 
who  has  given  us  two  or  three  visits.  He  still 
wears  the  deepest  mourning,  and  lives  very  retired. 
Betty  and  he  had  a  long  talk  this  morning,  but  I 
have  not  heard  what  it  was  about. 

A  good  many  of  my  aunt's  old  friends  have 
visited  her ;  and  she  has  spent  one  evening  at  my 
Lady  Carewe's,  at  a  card  party,  I  believe.  Betty 
and  I  were  not  asked  to  go ;  for  which  I  am  not 
sorry,  for  I  think  she  is  a  hateful  old  woman.  She 
must  be  seventy  years  old,  at  least,  and  yet  she 
wears  rouge  and  false  hair,  and  is  just  as  eager 
after  every  shilling  she  wins  at  play;  and  then 
she  does  so  delight  in  scandalous  dirty  stories.  I 
cannot  think  how  my  aunt,  who  hates  scandal,  can 
endure  her  ;  but  then  "  she  moves  in  the  best  soci- 
ety" forsooth,  and  that  is  enough. 

November  6 

I  saw  my  dear  Mrs.  Williams  this  morning.  It 
seems  my  mistress  —  I  shall  never  get  over  calling 
her  by  that  name  —  intends  to  spend  the  whole 
winter  at  the  Bath,  and  hath  sent  Mrs.  Williams 
to  town  on  some  business  and  to  see  to  letting  the 
house.  I  was  out  shopping  with  my  aunt  when  I 
met  Mrs.  Williams ;  and  aunt,  learning  who  she 
was,  and  having  heard,  as  she  kindly  said,  of  her 
goodness  to  me,  gave  me  leave  to  give  my  old 
friend  a  visit.  I  was  overjoyed  to  do  so,  for  Mrs. 
Williams  was  my  friend  when  I  sorely  needed  one. 
If  I  had  but  followed  her  counsel,  I  should  not  be 
the  forlorn  wretch  I  am  now.    But  there  is  no 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary. 


203 


use  in  looking  back,  or  forward  either  for  that 
matter.  My  aunt  gave  me  a  guinea,  and  bade  me 
buy  something  for  my  old  friend  such  as  I  thought 
she  would  like:  so  I  bought  her  a  large-print  Bible 
and  some  chocolate,  which  she  was  always  fond  of. 
It  is  a  new  kind,  made  up  in  cakes  like  ginger- 
bread, very  convenient  to  carry. 

My  aunt  left  me  at  the  door  of  my  old  dwelling, 
—  I  wont  say  home,  for  there  never  was  any  thing 
of  home  about  it,  —  and  told  me  she  would  call  for 
me  in  two  or  three  hours,  as  she  had  some  visits 
to  return.  How  strange  and  )ret  how  familiar  it 
seemed !  I  was  let  in  by  the  old  woman  who  takes 
care  of  the  house,  and  who  said  Mrs.  Williams 
would  be  back  presently.  As  I  stepped  into  the 
withdrawing  room  to  look  once  more  at  my  Lady 
Jem's  portrait,  it  seemed  every  moment  as  if  I 
should  hear  my  mistress's  whistle,  in  that  sharp 
sudden  note  which  always  told  me  to  expect  at  the 
least  a  box  on  the  ear.  The  picture  is  as  lovely 
as  ever,  most  beautifully  painted.  I  particularly 
noticed  the  diamond  earrings,  which  are  very  large, 
and  so  well  represented  that  they  seemed  actually 
to  emit  light,  I  wonder  what  has  become  of 
them.  Round  her  neck  is  the  very  same  locket 
and  chain  that  Sir  Charles  gave  me.  I  have  it 
safe  in  my  trinket-box,  the  chain  having  become 
somewhat  thin  by  wearing.  I  told  my  aunt  its 
history  one  day  when  she  saw  it  by  chance,  and 
she  bade  me  keep  it  as  Sir  Charles  had  said.  I 
was  glad,  for  I  feared  she  might  insist  on  examin- 


204  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


ing  it ;  but  that  is  not  her  way.  She  is  as  entirely 
a  woman  of  her  word  as  any  one  I  ever  saw,  and 
respects  the  same  in  other  people.  While  I  was 
looking  at  the  picture,  Mrs.  Williams  came  in. 
She  was  much  pleased  with  my  little  present,  and 
insisted  on  preparing  some  chocolate  at  once.  She 
had  bought  a  fine  cake  and  a  cold  fowl,  and  got 
ready  quite  a  little  feast. 

"  You  are  not  looking  well,"  said  she  to  me. 

"  I  am  well  enough,"  I  answered  ;  and  then, 
moved  by  I  know  not  what,  I  laid  my  head  down 
in  my  old  friend's  lap,  and  poured  out  all  my  story. 
Mrs.  Williams's  comment  was  an  unexpected  one. 

"I  am  glad  it  is  no  worse,"  said  she. 

"How  could  it  have  been  worse?"  I  said  pet- 
tishly. 

"  You  might  have  married  him,"  said  she  ;  "  that 
would  have  been  bad  enough.  Besides,  I  believe 
that  man  capable  of  any  wickedness.  He  hath 
been  one  of  the  prime  instruments  of  Col.  Kirke 
and  the  chief  justice  in  the  horrible  cruelties 
which  have  been  practised  on  the  poor  folks  of 
Somersetshire." 

"I  can't  believe  it,"  said  I. 

"  I  had  it  from  a  sure  hand,"  she  returned  ; 
"from  the  mother  of  one  of  the  sufferers.  It  is 
such  a  tale  as  I  would  not  pollute  your  ears  withal. 
I  thought  of  you  when  I  heard  it,  and  prayed  that 
you  might  be  preserved  from  his  clutches." 

"Let  us  talk  of  something  else,"  said  I.  "How 
is  my  mistress  ?  " 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  205 


"  Much  as  usual, .  only  that  her  health  is  bet- 
ter." 

"  You  must  have  a  hard  time  with  her  all  alone." 

"  So  hard  that  I  sometimes  think  I  must  leave 
her  altogether,"  replied  Mrs.  Williams.  "I  have 
told  her  that  I  must  have  a  rest;  and  as  soon -as 
my  business  is  ended  here  I  shall  go  down  to  Kent, 
and  make  a  visit  to  my  brother-in-law." 

"Kent,"  said  I,  "does  not  Mrs.  Pendergast's 
father  live  in  Kent?  " 

"  Yes,  and  close  by  where  I  am  going  :  so  I  hope 
to  see  them  often." 

"And  where  is  Mr.  Pendergast?" 

"  In  the  city,  I  suppose,  but  I  cannot  tell  you 
where,  sometimes  in  one  place,  and  sometimes 
in  another.  He  is  a  good  man,  though  not  yet 
fully  enlightened  as  to  spiritual  things.  But,  my 
dear,  if  you  wish  to  go  through  the  house,  we  must 
be  moving." 

I  agreed,  and  we  went  all  through  the  house. 
My  mistress  had  carried  away  all  of  my  Lady  Jem's 
clothes  and  other  such  matters ;  but  I  found  on  a 
shelf  in  her  closet  a  pile  of  old  books,  —  some  of 
devotion,  and  others  of  romances  and  the  like,  — 
and,  as  I  knew  they  were  worthless  to  sell,  I  car- 
ried off  two  or  three  for  keepsakes.  Also  I  found 
in  my  old  room  my  "  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  which 
I  had  forgotten  in  my  removal.  Mrs.  Williams 
bade  me  show  it  to  my  aunt,  and  I  promised  to  do 
so.  I  hope  she  will  not  disapprove  it,  for  it  is  a 
book  I  love. 


206  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


"And  what  do  you  know  about  Ursula  Jack- 
son? "  I  asked.    Mrs.  Williams  shook  her  head. 

"Nothing  pleasant.  She  and  her  husband  do 
not  at  all  agree.  She  poured  out  all  her  woes  to 
me,  as  I  fancy  she  does  to  every  one  who  will 
listen  to  her.  She  says  Mr.  Jackson  is  desper- 
ately jealous,  and  will  let  her  speak  to  no  one  but 
himself.  Mr.  Robertson  himself  told  me  that  Mr. 
Jackson  was  very  angry  at  a  certain  person's 
attentions  to  his  wife,  and  forbade  him  the  house." 

"  Why  do  you  suppose  Ursula  told  —  that  story 
about  my  having  a  great  fortune  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  she  made  it  partly  out  of  something 
my  mistress  said.  Ursula  was  wondering  at  your 
aunt's  adopting  you  when  she  had  daughters  of 
her  own  to  marry,  and  my  mistress  answered  her, 
'You  may  be  sure  Lady  Fullham  knows  what  she 
is  about.  Dolly  may  come  into  a  fortune  some 
day.'  I  believe  she  only  meant  to  hint  that  she 
herself  might  leave  you  something;  but,  seeing 
how  eagerly  Ursula  took  it  up,  she  went  on  adding 
more  hints  just  to  tease  her." 

"  Ursula  was  always  dreadfully  afraid  my  mis- 
tress would  leave  me  something,  though  I  don't 
think  there  is  any  danger,"  said  I. 

"Nor  I,"  answered  Mrs.  Williams.  "I  doubt 
her  ever  bringing  herself  to  make  a  will  at  all. 
She  clings  closer  and  closer  to  this  world  every 
day." 

"And  if  she  does  not,  where  will  her  money 

go?" 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  207 


"To  her  brother's  descendants,  I  presume. 
There  is  quite  a  family  of  them ;  but  my  mistress 
never  could  abide  them,  though  they  are  very 
nice  people.  Your  acquaintance,  Mr.  Evelyn, 
brought  up  one  of  them,  —  a  young  lady  who  was 
left  an  orphan  in  the  plague  time,  —  and  she  was 
married  from  his  house.  She  came  to  see  my 
mistress  once,  and  I  thought  her  a  very  nice, 
pretty  young  lady.  But  there  is  no  telling  what 
my  mistress  may  do." 

"  Marry  again,  perhaps,"  I  suggested. 

"Hardly,  I  think,  though  there  is  no  telling. 
I  always  say  I  should  be  surprised  at  no  one's 
marriage  but  my  own.  Well,  here  is  the  coach 
come  for  you,  my  dear.  Thank  my  good  Lady 
Fullham  for  allowing  me  this  visit.  And,  my 
dear  child,  take  one  bit  of  counsel  from  your  old 
friend.  Try  to  rest  all  this  trouble  of  yours  where 
it  belongs.  Cast  thy  burden  on  the  Lord,  and  he 
shall  sustain  thee.  Wait  on  the  Lord,  and  com- 
mit thy  way  to  him." 

"  I  can't,  said  I,  crying.  "  I  have  tried,  and  I 
can't." 

"  Perhaps  you  have  not  tried  in  the  right  way. 
But  there,  I  must  not  keep  you.  God  bless  thee, 
my  lamb  !  I  do  miss  thee  sorely,  but  thou  art  in 
better  hands  than  mine ;  and  I  have  faith  to  be- 
lieve thou  wilt  be  guided  home,  though  not  by  the 
path  of  thine  own  choosing.  He  leadeth  the  blind 
by  a  way  they  know  not,  but  all  the  same  he  lead- 
eth them." 


208  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

I  was  in  funds,  having  just  been  paid  my  quar- 
ter's allowance  of  spending  money :  so  I  gave  Mrs. 
Williams  ten  shillings,  and  asked  her  to  lay  it  out 
in  presents  for  Mrs.  Pendergast's  two  little  chil- 
dren, who  were  always  great  pets  of  mine.  Then 
I  bade  her  good-by,  and  took  leave  forever  of  the 
house  where  I  first  saw  Mr.  Morley.  I  wish  I 
had  died  then  and  there,  before  I  ever  saw  him 
again. 

I  found  Mr.  Newington,  our  rector,  in  the  coach 
with  my  aunt,  going  home  to  sup  at  our  lodgings. 
My  aunt  asked  what  books  I  had ;  and  I  showed 
her  they  were  Mr.  Taylor's  "  Golden  Grove,"  and 
the  "  Arcadia"  by  Philip  Sidney. 

"  There  is  no  harm  in  these,"  remarked  my 
aunt,  "  but  what  is  this  ?  4  The  Pilgrim's  Prog- 
ress,' by  John  Bunyan.  Is  he  not  that  tinker 
turned  preacher  that  I  have  heard  of?  I  cannot 
think  such  an  author  suitable  for  the  closet  of  a 
young  lady.  —  What  say  you,  Mr.  Newington  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  harm  in  the  piece,  but  a  great 
deal  of  good,"  said  Mr.  Newington.  "  I  have  read 
the  book  more  than  once,  and  I  venture  to  say 
Mrs.  Dorothy  will  not  be  hurt  by  it." 

"But  a  tinker,  Mr.  Newington,"  said  my  aunt; 
"  a  common  tinker  to  aspire  to  be  a  preacher ! " 

"Well,  what  then,  madam?  I  knew  a  worse 
case  even  than  that,  where  a  common  carpenter 
put  himself  forward  to  take  part  in  the  services  of 
his  own  parish  church." 

"And  what  did  they  do  to  him?"  asked  my 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary. 


209 


aunt,  all  unsuspicious  of  the  trap  into  which  she 
was  falling. 

"Do?  Why,  they  said,  'Is  not  this  the  carpen- 
ter, the  son  of  Mary  ?  '  and  they  were  offended  at 
him." 

My  aunt  drew  herself  up.  "  I  think  you  are 
almost  profane,  Mr.  Newington.  Would  you  draw 
a  parallel  between  our  Lord  and  this  Anabaptist 
preacher?  " 

"  Heaven  forbid,  madam,  that  I  should  draw 
any  such  parallel  between  him  and  the  very  most 
exalted  of  his  creatures!  "  said  Mr.  Newington  sol- 
emnly. "  All  I  meant  to  show  was  that  outward 
rank  and  consequence  are  as  nothing  in  his  eyes, 
who  took  David  from  following  the  sheep  to  be 
king  over  his  people,  and  sent  Amos  the  herds- 
man to  rebuke  even  kings.  I  am  sorry  for  what 
I  must  think  are  the  good  man's  errors ;  but  these 
peculiar  notions  do  not  at  all  appear  in  his  book, 
which  I  can  confidently  recommend  for  Mrs.  Dor- 
othy's perusal." 

My  aunt  could  do  no  less  than  agree,  but  she 
said  afterward  that  she  was  sorry  so  good  a  man 
should  take  up  such  strange  notions.  If  what  he 
said  was  true,  any  little  mechanic  or  tradesman's 
wife  might  be  setting  herself  up  to  be  the  equal  of 
any  lady  in  the  land.  But  it  seems  to  me  that  the 
effect  of  these  notions,  if  carried  out,  would  make 
the  tradesman's  wife  not  care  any  thing  about 
being  equal  to  anybody.  If  one  really  believes 
one's-self  a  member  of  Christ,  a  child  of  God,  and 


210  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

an  inheritor  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  as  the 
Catechism  says,  one  would  not  care  for  any  earthly 
distinction.  One  would  not  fret  very  much  be- 
cause the  duchess  of  this  or  my  Lady  T'other 
did  not  bow  to  them.  But  it  seems  to  me  as  if 
most  of  the  people  I  know  did  not  really  believe 
these  things  at  all,  not  as  they  believe  in  the 
things  of  this  world.  I  know  there  is  no  reality 
in  them  to  me,  at  any  rate.  I  wish  there  were. 
Perhaps  I  should  find  some  comfort  in  them,  and 
get  rid  of  this  dull  pain  at  my  heart  which  seems 
to  press  my  life  out. 

Lady  Hill,  December  1, 
We  are  here  and  mostly  settled.  I  thought  we 
never  should  get  here  alive.  What  with  the  state 
of  the  roads,  and  the  dread  of  highwaymen  with 
whom  the  country  is  more  infested  than  usual  since 
the  late  troubles,  and  the  rain  and  wet,  and  my 
uncle's  fretting  and  fuming,  the  journey  was  any 
thing  but  pleasant  for  the  most  part.  I  am  glad 
they  did  not  bring  poor  Meg's  body  down  here  to 
be  buried.  It  would  have  been  simply  agonizing. 
We  had  six  horses  to  the  coach  nearly  all  the  way, 
and  yet  more  than  once  my  uncle  had  to  send  for 
oxen  to  drag  the  coach  out  of  the  mire.  I  could 
but  admire  my  aunt's  patience  and  cheerfulness. 
Not  a  fretful  word  escaped  her  in  our  very  worst 
predicaments,  and  she  was  always  ready  to  see 
something  pleasant  or  odd  to  divert  our  minds. 
She  certainly  is  an  admirable  woman  in  most 
ways. 


Mrs.  Studleyfs  Diary.  211 


Mary  Mathews  jumped  at  the  chance  of  going 
into  the  country  again,  and  hath  greatly  com- . 
mended  herself  to  my  aunt  and  to  Mrs.  Sharpless 
by  her  usefulness  and  her  cheerful  spirits.  She 
laughed  at  all  our  hardships,  and  told  us  such  tales 
of  travelling  in  the  north  (she  comes  from  some- 
where about  Durham)  as  did  indeed  make  our 
inconveniences  seem  very  small.  I  am  glad  I  was 
able  to  secure  the  place  for  her,  both  for  her  sake 
and  my  aunt's.  Mrs.  Sharpless  takes  to  her  greatly, 
and  shows  no  jealousy  of  my  aunt's  favor  to  her, 
as  poor  Brown  used  to.  I  said  as  much  to  Betty 
one  day.    She  laughed. 

"  There  is  just  the  difference  between  Sharpless 
and  Brown  that  there  is  between  the  cat  and  the 
dog,"  said  she.  "  The  dog  lives  in  the  opinion  of 
other  people,  and  consequently  he  can  be  made 
jealous.  But  did  you  ever  see  a  cat  show  any 
jealousy  of  the  opinion  or  favor  of  her  mistress  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  did,"  said  I.  "  The 
cat  thinks  too  much  of  herself  to  care  what  any 
one  thinks  of  her.  Indeed,  I  don't  think  cats 
acknowledge  any  ownership  in  the  people  they 
live  with.  Puss  is  your  friend,  but  it  is  on  terms 
of  equality." 

"That  is  it  exactly,"  said  Betty:  "Sharpless 
thinks  too  much  of  herself  to  be  jealous  of  any- 
body." 

I  don't  know  whether  that  is  the  true  solution 
or  not ;  but,  at  any  rate,  such  a  person  as  Sharpless 
is  much  pleasanter  to  live  with  than  one  who  is 


212  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

always  looking  out  for  affronts  and  slights.  But 
to  what  a  distance  have  I  wandered ! 

We  staid  a  night  in  Exeter,  and  then  came  on 
here,  having  sent  a  groom  in  advance  to  announce 
our  coming,  as  my  uncle  decided  to  stop  here,  and 
go  to  Fullham  afterwards.  In  the  morning,  Betty 
and  I  went  to  service  at  the  cathedral.  It  is  a 
most  huge  and  venerable  pile  of  Gothic  architec- 
ture, far  more  beautiful  to  my  eyes,  I  must  say, 
than  the  new  St.  Paul's  will  ever  be.  Aunt  says  my 
taste  is  not  correct ;  and  that  no  doubt,  as  the  Gre- 
cian and  Roman  style  of  building  spreads  more 
and  more,  many  of  these  great  piles  will  be  taken 
down  and  rebuilt.  But  I  hope  that  may  not  be  in 
my  day.  Perhaps  the  fashion  may  change,  and 
the  Gothic  come  to  be  admired  again.  I  must  say 
I  was  quite  overwhelmed  with  the  prospect  of  the 
fretted  roof,  the  long  aisles,  and  colored  windows ; 
though  they  say  these  last  are  nothing  to  what 
they  were  before  the  great  rebellion.  My  uncle 
says,  however,  that  the  rebels  did  not  all  the  mis- 
chief they  are  credited  with  in  such  cases,  —  that 
the  Cavaliers  were  often  quite  as  bad. 

The  service  was  musical,  of  course,  and  beauti- 
fully sung,  as  they  pride  themselves  on  the  sing- 
ing; but  I  must  say  I  am  not  fond  of  a  musical 
service.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  very  beauty  and 
and  glory  of  our  service  is  that  it  is  common  prayer, 
—  common,  that  is,  to  the  clergy  and  the  people ; 
though  I  admit  that,  in  practice,  it  is  too  often  left 
to  the  parson  and  the  clerk.    But  a  musical  ser- 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


213 


vice  seems  to  belong  wholly  to  the  clergy  and  the 
choir ;  and  the  people  have  only  to  listen  and  ad- 
mire, —  or  criticise,  as  the  case  may  be. 

I  was  pleased  to  see  the  old  men  and  women 
from  the  almshouses  in  their  place,  looking  so 
warm  and  comfortable  in  their  thick  gray  cloaks 
and  hoods.  I  wonder  do  they  like  to  come,  or 
does  the  daily  attendance  become  but  a  wearisome 
task?  There  are  many  charitable  foundations  in 
the  city,  —  one  especially  for  ladies  in  reduced  cir- 
cumstances, where  my  aunt  hath  several  acquaint- 
ances, and  where  she  hath  promised  to  take  us  to 
visit  some  day. 

In  the  afternoon  we  came  out  here.  Mrs.  Sharp- 
less  and  Mary  Mathews  had  preceded  us,  and  got 
things  into  some  order.  The  evening  was  closing 
in  as  we  came  in  sight  of  the  little  knoll  on  which 
the  house  is  built;  and  the  lighted  windows  were 
a  cheerful  sight,  as  was  the  glow  and  warmth  of 
the  great  wood  fire  which  Mrs.  Sharpless  had 
caused  to  be  built  in  the  hall.  We  wera  received 
with  many  courtesies  and  bows  by  the  old  house- 
keeper and  her  husband,  who  acts  as  bailiff  or 
steward,  and  found  a  savory,  hot  supper  await- 
ing us. 

"  Why,  this  is  pleasant,  this  is  like  home,"  said 
my  uncle,  looking  about  him.  "  This  is  better 
than  London  cheer.    Eh,  Bess  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  sir  !  "  answered  Bess  heartily. 

u  And  what  says  my  clove-gillyflower?"  asked 
my  uncle,  turning  to  me.   "  Will  it  take  good  root, 


214 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


and  flourish  again  in  Devon  soil,  or  will  it  pine  for 
London  smoke  and  fineries  ?  " 

I  fear  the  poor,  smirched,  down-trodden  clove- 
gillyflower  will  never  flourish  anywhere  again,  but 
I  did  not  say  so  to  my  kind  uncle.  I  answered 
him  truthfully  that  I  never  wished  to  see  London 
again. 

"  Why,  that's  well !  "  said  my  uncle.  "  I  must 
have  you  learn  to  ride  and  walk,  and  make  a  coun- 
try maid  of  you.  As  to  Bess,  I  believe  she  would 
like  to  don  the  russet-gown,  and  take  up  the 
milking-stool  and  pail,  and  tend  the  cows  like  any 
country  Cicely,  —  hey,  Bess  ?  " 

"  That  I  would,  sir,"  answered  Betty.  "  I  always 
thought  I  would  like  to  be  a  dairy-maid ;  "  whereat 
my  aunt  shook  her  head,  but  smilingly,  and  we  sat 
down  to  supper  in  great  good-humor. 

For  two  or  three  days  we  were  all  very  busy, 
under  my  aunt's  direction,  in  getting  the  house  in 
order.  It  had  been  well  cared  for  ;  but,  like  other 
uninhabited  houses,  it  needed  a  deal  to  make  it 
really  cheerful  and  comfortable.  However,  things 
are  now  pretty  well  settled.  My  aunt  has  given 
Betty  and  me  a  very  pretty  set  of  rooms  on  the 
second  floor.  Our  sitting-room  —  for  aunt  says 
we  are  not  to  talk  of  the  schoolroom  any  more  — 
has  a  great  bow-window,  or  oriel,  which  commands 
a  beautiful  view  of  the  city  of  Exeter,  rising  from 
the  Exe,  crowned  grandly  with  the  towers  of  the 
great  cathedral.  I  love  to  sit  here  at  evening,  and 
watch  the  kindling  of  the  lights,  like  stars.  Here 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  215 


we  have  our  harpsichord,  on  which  I  practise  dili- 
gently every  morning,  our  work-tables,  and  our 
French  and  Italian  books.  My  aunt  hath  set  us 
to  embroidering  new  covers  for  the  chairs  in  the 
great  drawing-room,  which  are  sadly  worn  and 
faded.  Betty  grumbles  privately,  and  calls  it  a 
sad  waste  of  time ;  but  I  must  confess  I  like  it. 
It  is  a  real  diversion ;  for  one  has  to  give  it  all 
one's  attention,  and  thus  it  leaves  no  room  for  sad 
thoughts,  as  plain  work  does. 

Our  bedrooms  open  from  this  sitting-room,  and 
are  very  comfortable,  with  moreen  hangings,  —  one 
of  red  and  the  other  of  green, — and  ornamented 
with  some  old  prints  of  sacred  subjects,  which  my 
aunt's  first  husband  picked  up  abroad.  They  are 
brown  and  faded,  with  tarnished  gilt  frames,  and 
my  aunt  would  have  consigned  them  to  the  lum- 
ber-room ;  but  Betty  and  I  begged  them,  as  we  did 
various  odds  and  ends  of  china  and  carving.  I 
fancy  this  gentleman  must  have  been  something 
of  a  virtuoso,  from  the  heaps  of  shells,  minerals, 
and  other  curiosities  he  has  collected. 

The  garden  is  large,  and  very  beautiful,  to  my 
thinking.  A  part  thereof  is  laid  out  in  the  for- 
mal Dutch  fashion,  with  parterres,  and  yew-trees 
clipped  into  the  shape  of  peacocks  and  dragons 
and  a  rampant  St.  George  on  horseback  ;  and  there 
is  a  fountain  and  a  maze  and  what  not,  which  are 
the  pride  of  the  old  gardener's  heart.  Beyond 
this  extends  what  is,  to  me,  the  beautiful  part  of 
the  garden.    It  has  run  wild,  it  is  true,  but  there 


216  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

are  green,  mossy  walks,  and  tall  trees,  and  a  great 
bank  of  violets,  and  many  curious  trees  and  herbs 
which  my  uncle  (I  suppose  he  was  my  uncle  as 
much  as  Sir  Robert  is)  collected.  Also  there  is  a 
long  row  of  bee-hives,  and  a  plantation  of  such 
sweet  herbs  and  flowers  as  their  cunning  little 
inhabitants  love.  My  aunt  says  my  uncle  Foster 
was  a  great  chemist  and  botanist,  and  used  to 
distil  many  cordial  and  other  medicines,  which 
he  gave  away  to  poor  folks.  His  furnace  and 
retorts  still  occupy  a  room  in  the  older  part  of  the 
house,  which  room  is  looked  upon  with  super- 
stitious awe  by  the  servants  and  the  country 
people,  who  seem  to  have  rewarded  his  goodness 
to  them  by  believing  that  he  was  in  league  with 
the  Devil. 

December  10. 

Betty  has  had  a  letter  from  my  Lord  Chesterton, 
to  say  that  he  has  obtained  leave  from  the  duke, 
his  uncle,  to  build  a  schoolhouse  at  Cross  Hill, 
with  rooms  for  the  master  and  mistress,  and  a 
good  endowment  for  their  support.  He  has  made 
Mercy  Lane  mistress  ;  and,  till  the  new  house  shall 
be  done,  he  has  fitted  up  a  good-sized  cottage  for 
her  use.  The  school  is  to  be  called  Mistress  Mar- 
garet's School,  in  memory  of  our  dear  Meg.  I 
think  it  is  the  loveliest  monument  I  ever  heard 
of;  much  better  than  a  great,  unmeaning  pile  of 
marble  which  does  no  one  any  good.  This  monu- 
ment will  keep  her  memory  green,  and  be  a  benefit 
for  ages,  perhaps.    But  who  would  have  thought 


Mrs.  Studley^s  Diary. 


217 


of  Lord  Chesterton's  doing  such  a  thing  when  I 
first  knew  him  !  My  uncle  and  aunt  are  greatly 
pleased,  as  well  they  may  be. 

We  are  fallen  into  a  very  regular  course  of  life. 
My  uncle  hunts  and  shoots  and  attends  to  his 
farming,  in  which  he  takes  great  interest,  specially 
in  a  new  breed  of  cattle  which  he  has  obtained 
from  his  brother  who  lives  in  North  Devon.  (We 
are  to  visit  this  same  brother  before  long.)  My 
aunt  attends  to  her  housekeeping  and  her  dairy, 
and  overlooks  our  lessons  and  our  work.  I  fancy 
she  is  rather  homesick  for  London  ;  though  she 
does  not  say  a  word,  and  I  dare  say  would  be  torn 
with  wild  horses  before  she  would  own  as  much., 
We  have  had  some  visits  from  country  neighbors, 
and  from  the  bishop's  family  and  the  other  dig- 
nified clergy  of  Exeter;  but  of  course  we  do  not 
see  nearly  as  much  company  as  in  London, 
especially  now  when  the  roads  are  so  bad. 

Betty  and  I  go  to  church  every  morning  when 
it  is  not  too  stornry,  and  we  not  seldom  form  nearly 
the  whole  congregation.  The  rector  is  a  little  old 
man,  who  always  does  make  me  think  of  a  white 
owl,  especially  in  his  surplice  ;  but  he  reads  nicely, 
and  is  a  good  preacher,  if  he  would  not  have  so 
much  to  say  about  the  divine  right  of  kings  and 
the  duty  of  passive  obedience.  He  is  very  kind 
to  the  poor  people,  alike  to  the  Churchmen  and 
the  Dissenters,  of  whom  there  are  a  good  many  in 
the  parish ;  and  I  believe  they  all  love  and  respect 
him,  though  they  do  not  show  it  by  coming  to 


218  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


church.  He  is  also  a  great  antiquary;  and  the 
last  time  he  was  here  he  explained  to  Betty  and 
me  that  the  old  mass  of  brick-work  in  the  garden 
is  the  remains  of  some  old  Roman  wall,  of  which 
there  are  many  in  these  parts.  I  thought  the 
good  man  would  have  fainted  when  my  uncle  said 
the  old  thing  was  an  eye-sore,  and  ought  to  be 
blown  up  with  gunpowder.  He  was  so  pathetic 
that  my  uncle  promised  that  the  ruin  should  not 
be  touched  in  his  time.  I  don't  think  he  ever 
thought  of  doing  it,  but  he  sometimes  likes  to 
tease.  But  I  have  wandered  a  long  way  from  our 
daily  doings. 

After  our  return  from  church  I  practise  my 
music,  and  Betty  takes  her  painting,  in  which  she 
finds  great  pleasure.  She  is  copying  for  me  a 
Virgin  and  Child,  which  we  both  greatly  admired 
at  the  bishop's  palace,  and  which  his  lordship  was 
kind  enough  to  lend  for  the  purpose.  I  do  not 
usually  care  for  these  representations ;  but  this  pic- 
ture is  lovely,  especially  the  little  angel  heads  in 
the  corners,  looking  down  with  a  tender  solicitude 
at  the  divine  Child,  which  lies  asleep  in  its  mother's 
arms.  Then  wre  read  French  or  Italian  till  dinner, 
after  which  we  sit  in  my  aunt's  parlor  with  our 
work,  ride  with  my  uncle  when  the  weather  allows, 
or  pay  visits.  We  have  been  to  Exeter  to  two 
card-parties,  a  kind  of  entertainment  I  heartily 
hate.  It  is  shocking  to  me"  to  see  old  women 
and  old  men,  even  clergymen,  quarrelling  over  the 
cards,  so  eager  after  their  gains,  and  so  angry  at 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  219 


their  losses,  which  they  seem  always  to  lay  to 
their  partners.  And  then  when  the  cards  are  laid 
aside,  and  the  coffee-cups  come  round,  such  tales 
of  scandal,  and  pulling  to  pieces  of  the  absent, 
and  hints  and  innuendoes.  However,  we  are  not 
likely  to  see  much  more  of  them,  for  my  uncle 
vows  we  shall  go  to  no  more  evening  parties  unless 
we  stay  all  night,  the  roads  are  so  dangerous  at 
this  season. 

Betty  and  I  have  taken  to  visiting  a  good  deal 
among  the  poor  folks,  and  to  working  for  them. 
There  is  one  poor  body  especially,  a  widow,  with 
one  or  two  children,  whose  mother  has  lately  come 
to  live  with  her,  at  least  for  the  present.  The 
poor  old  creature  hath  been  well  to  do  in  her  day, 
but  her  husband  was  unlucky  enough  to  sell  some 
horses  to  one  of  the  Duke  of  Monmouth's  officers. 
He  could  not  well  help  himself  for  doing  so,  since 
the  horses  would  have  been  taken  at  any  rate: 
but  for  this  offence,  and  this  alone,  he  was  hanged 
up  at  his  own  gate,  and  his  wife  was  compelled  to 
witness  his  death-struggle :  after  which  she  was 
allowed  to  buy  her  life,  only  to  suffer  a  new  be- 
reavement; for  her  son,  attempting  to  steal  his 
father's  body  and  bury  it,  was  taken  and  hanged 
beside  it. 

"  Ay,  I  saw  all  this  with  my  own  eyes,  and 
the  wretch  mocked  at  my  tears  and  cries,"  said 
the  old  woman,  with  flashing  eyes.  "  I  can  see  him 
now  in  his  fine  clothes,  with  his  white,  beringed 
hands,  one  of  them  scarred  across  the  back  with  a 


220  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


sabre-cut  or  some  such  thing,  and  his  lady's  favor 
in  his  hat." 

I  turned  sick ;  but  something,  I  know  not  what, 
made  me  question  her  further. 

"  What  was  the  favor  like  ?  "I  asked. 

"  A  pink  silk  ribbon,  worked  with  silver  span- 
gles ;  I  can  see  it  now." 

So  could  I,  for  it  was  the  very  knot  of  ribbon  I 
had  found  in  Lady  Jem's  cabinet,  and  which  Mr. 
Morley  had  begged  from  me  one  of  those  morn- 
ings when  I  met  him  in  the  park.  And  to  think  I 
allowed  that  very  hand —  But  there,  it  won't  bear 
thinking  of.  I  would  I  could  never  think  of  him 
again.  I  grew  so  white  that  the  good  Priscilla 
Lee  was  scared,  and  made  her  mother  a  sign  to 
cease  talking. 

u  Ay,  my  dear  tender  lamb,  your  kind  heart 
cannot  abide  to  hear  of  such  things,"  said  the  old 
woman  kindly,  as  her  daughter  hastened  to  bring 
me  a  draught  of  fair  water.  "  May  you  never 
have  to  suffer  them !  But  the  time  will  come  that 
the  Lord  will  avenge  his  saints.  He  will  not  with- 
hold his  arm  forever.  Something  tells  me  that  I 
shall  live,  old  as  I  am,  to  see  the  tyrant  cast  down, 
and  that  no  son  of  his  will  sit  on  his  throne  after 
him." 

"Hush,  dame!  that  is  not  safe  talk,"  said  I, 
recovering  myself  by  a  great  effort.  "  You  would 
not  like  to  bring  your  daughter  into  trouble.  I 
shall  not  repeat  your  words ;  but  others  might,  if 
they  heard  them." 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary.  221 


*  You  are  right,  madam,  and  I  am  wrong,"  said 
the  old  woman  ;  "but  these  remembrances  are  too 
much  for  me  at  times.  But  I  will  be  careful. 
Good-day,  my  dear  lamb,  and  thank  you  for  all 
your  kindness.  Take  care  of  your  steps,  my  pretty, 
for  the  ways  are  but  slippery." 

"  You  will  not  mind  my  mother,"  said  Priscilla, 
following  me  to  the  gate  of  the  little  garden. 
"  Indeed,  she  is  a  good  and  a  godly  woman,  and 
hath  been  like  an  own  mother  to  me.  You  will 
take  no  offence  at  her,  my  dear  young  lady  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,"  I  answered  ;  "  who  can  wonder  at 
her.    But  I  hope  she  will  be  more  careful." 

December  31. 

I  think  Dame  Penberthy's  story  put  the  crown 
to  all  my  miseries ;  I  suppose  I  had  come  to  the 
place  where  I  could  bear  no  more.  When  I  came 
home,  my  aunt  asked  if  I  were  ill.  I  said  no; 
though  my  head  felt  strangely  bewildered,  and  I 
could  hardly  keep  my  wits  together  to  answer  the 
commonest  question.  My  aunt  sent  me  to  bed  at 
last,  but  I  could  not  rest.  The  last  I  remember  is 
waking  from  a  dreadful  dream  of  somebody  chok- 
ing me  with  a  spangled  ribbon,  while  Mr.  Morley 
stood  by  laughing.  My  aunt  was  bending  over 
me,  and  saying,  — 

"  What  is  it,  my  love  ?   What  troubles  thee  so  ?  " 

I  tried  to  answer,  I  remember ;  but  I  suppose  I 
spoke  wildly  and  beside  the  purpose,  for  I  dis- 
tinctly recollect  my  aunt's  face  of  alarm.  After 


222  Through  Unknown  Ways;  ory 


that,  I  knew  no  more  till  I  awaked  one  evening, 
and  saw  the  setting  sun  streaming  in  at  the  win- 
dow, and  heard  the  chimes  of  our  little  church 
ringing  merrily.  Sharpless  was  sitting  by  me,  and 
rose  as  I  moved. 

"  Why  are  the  chimes  ringing  ?  "  I  asked. 

"For  service,"  answered  Sharpless,  as  tran- 
quilly as  though  nothing  were  the  matter ;  while 
she  felt  my  pulse,  and  then  put  her  hand  on  my 
forehead.  I  tried  to  raise  my  own  hand,  but  it 
felt  strangely  useless. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  Have  I  been  ill  ? "  I 
asked. 

"  Yes,  quite  ill,  but  I  hope  you  are  better  now. 
See,  take  this  broth,  my  dear  lamb." 

(Sharpless  is  very  punctilious  in  giving  Betty 
and  me  our  proper  titles  when  we  are  well ;  but 
when  we  are  ill,  or  in  trouble,  she  falls  back  into 
all  her  Devon  forms  of  endearment.) 

I  drank  the  broth  obediently. 

"  How  good  it  tastes  !  "  said  I. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  she  answered. 
46  It  shows  the  fever  hath  left  you.  But  do  not 
talk,  my  lamb.    Lie  still,  and  try  to  sleep  again." 

I  slept  well  all  night,  but  was  waked  early  by 
singing  under  my  window.  As  I  turned,  Sharpless 
rose  from  the  great  chair  by  the  bed. 

"  How  thoughtless,"  said  she.  "  I  wonder  no 
one  remembered  to  hinder  the  waits  from  coming." 

"  The  waits !  "  I  said,  in  wonder.  "Is  it  Christ- 
mas already  ?  " 


Mrs.  Studley^s  Diary. 


223 


"  Yes,  my  dear,  Christmas  morning." 

"  Please  don't  stop  the  singing.  I  love  to  hear 
it,"  said  I.  And,  indeed,  it  sounded  very  sweetly 
in  the  cold,  frosty  air.  The  rector  is  very  fond  of 
music,  and  a  great  promoter  of  it  among  his  flock. 
As  I  lay  and  listened,  I  found  the  tears  stealing 
down  my  cheeks  ;  and  they  seemed  to  wash  away 
the  last  clouds  from  my  brain,  so  that  I  could 
think  clearly.  I  have  not  been  able  to  shed  a  tear 
in  all  my  troubles  before,  but  now  I  wept  freely ; 
and  Sharpless  did  not  check  me  at  first,  but  kissed 
and  poor  deared  me,  and  stroked  my  hair,  like 
a  mother  with  a  sick  babe.  By  and  by  she  began 
gently  to  hush  me,  and  after  a  time  I  fell  asleep 
again.  When  my  aunt  brought  the  doctor  in  to 
see  me,  he  pronounced  me  out  of  all  danger  if  I 
were  only  prudent. 

uThen  you  think  she  needs  no  more  bleeding 
nor  medicine  ?  "  asked  my  aunt,  rather  anxiously. 

"  Nothing  but  a  few  glasses  of  good  port-wine 
which  your  own  cellars  will  furnish,  and  a  little 
cordial  which  I  will  send  her,  to  spoil  her  pretty 
mouth  with  making  faces,"  answered  the  doctor, 
with  a  laugh  it  did  me  good  to  hear,  it  was  so 
good-natured  and  cheerful.  u  I  will  send  you  a 
portion  of  the  powder  of  Jesuits'  bark,  which  you 
will  put  into  a  pint  of  port-wine,  and  let  her  have 
a  glass  three  times  a  day." 

"  Then  you  believe  in  the  Jesuits'  bark,"  said 
my  aunt.  "Some  say,  you  know,  that  his  late 
Majesty  was  poisoned  thereby." 


224  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


"  Some  talk  great  nonsense,"  returned  the  doa 
tor.  "  If  his  Majesty  had  taken  nothing  but  the 
bark,  he  might  have  been  alive  now.  The  treat- 
ment they  gave  him,  however  well  meant,  was 
enough  to  kill  a  donkey,  in  my  opinion.  I  have 
seen  this  medicine  used  when  I  was  in  South 
America ;  and  I  can  assure  you,  madam,  it  hath 
not  its  equal  in  rousing  the  power  of  nature  to 
throw  off  disease.  — But  you  look  gravely  on  it, 
nurse,"  he  added,  turning  to  Mrs.  Sharpless,  who 
did,  indeed,  wear  a  face  of  strong  disapproval. 
w  Confess,  now,  that  the  name  scares  you." 

Sharpless  owned  she  could  not  believe  any  thing 
good  which  came  from  that  quarter. 

"  There  you  are  mistaken,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  The  Jesuits  have  made  known  to  us  several 
valuable  remedies ;  and  I,  who  have  seen  them  in 
South  America,  can  testify  to  their  kindness  to  the 
poor  oppressed  Indians,  standing  between  them 
and  their  cruel  Spanish  masters,  who  there,  as 
everywhere,  spoil  all  they  touch.  Besides,"  he 
added,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "  Jesuits'  bark 
is  not  the  true  name  of  the  medicine,  which  is 
called  cinchona  by  the  natives  of  those  parts,  who 
make  great  use  of  it." 

Sharpless's  face  cleared  up  on  this.  She  has 
been  obliged  to  allow  the  virtues  of  the  medicine, 
which  has  cured  herself  of  an  obstinate  pain  in 
her  face.  It  ought  to  do  good,  for  the  taste  is 
horrible. 

We  were  to  have  gone  to  Mr.  Richard  Fullham's 


Mrs.  Studlei/s  Diary. 


225 


to  keep  our  Christmas,  but  my  illness  prevented. 
Our  own  Christmas  passed  very  quietly.  My  bed 
was  covered  with  pretty  gifts  from  all  my  friends ; 
even  the  old  rector  bringing  me  a  beautiful  little 
cup  of  Venetian  glass  from  his  collection.  He 
prayed  with  me,  and  did  hint  something  about 
the  holy  communion  ;  but  I  did  not  respond.  I 
feel  I  am  in  no  state  for  it. 

My  recovery  has  been  tolerably  rapid,  and  my 
aunt  hopes  by  Twelfth  Day  I  may  be  able  to  go 
to  Mr.  Fullham's  with  the  rest  of  them.  I  would 
very  much  rather  stay  at  home ;  but  I  am  deter- 
mined to  please  my  aunt  in  all  things,  so  far  as  I 
am  able.  It  is  all  I  can  do  in  return  for  her  kind- 
ness to  me.  I  can't  be  happy,  to  please  her, —  that 
I  am  sure  I  shall  never  be  again,  —  but  I  will  try 
not  to  be  a  kill-joy,  at  least. 

Looking  forward  from  the  last  day  of  this  year, 
which  has  been  such  an  eventful  one  for  me,  I 
seem  to  see  life  stretching  on  before  me  as  a  long 
road  over  a  barren  plain,  without  tree  or  shrub 
or  shady  grove  or  living  spring,  and  ending  — 
who  knows  where?  If  I  were  good,  like  poor 
Mercy  Lane,  I  might  take  comfort  in  religion  ;  but 
I  am  not  good.  My  heart  rises  at  times  in  fierce 
rebellion  at  my  lot.  I  feel  as  if  Providence  had 
mocked  me ;  as  if  one  should  hold  a  cool  and 
sweet  draught  to  a  thirsty  man's  lips,  and  after 
one  mouthful  should  dash  the  liquor  on  the 
ground.  Then,  again,  it  is,  as  I  say,  as  if  all  the 
fair  plains  and  fertile  hills  and  running  streams 


226  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or. 


were  past,  and  only  the  barren,  desert  plain  re- 
mained to  be  gone  over.  I  don't  really  care  for 
any  thing,  unless  it  be  visiting  among  the  poor 
folks,  and  talking  with  the  old  women  and  little 
children ;  and  I  cannot  do  that  now. 

January  8,  1686. 

I  did  not  go  to  Mr.  Fullham's  after  all,  having 
a  little  return  of  headache  and  fever ;  but  the  rest 
went,  leaving  me  in  the  care  of  Mrs.  Sharpless.  I 
have  rather  enjoyed  the  quiet  and  loneliness,  and 
have  amused  myself  with  roaming  about  the  house, 
and  looking  at  all  the  curious  things  which  my 
uncle  Foster  collected  in  his  lifetime.  He  must 
have  been  a  man  of  great  taste  and  learning.  The 
rector,  Dr.  Burgoin,  tells  me  he  was  a  most  amiable 
man,  of  courtly  manners,  and  very  devout,  but 
that  he  cared  nothing  at  all  for  riches  or  worldly 
honors ;  and  though  he  had  great  connections, 
who  might  have  advanced  his  fortunes,  he  never 
courted  them,  or  sought  their  notice.  I  can't  but 
wonder  how  he  and  my  aunt  got  on  together ;  for, 
with  all  her  excellent  qualities,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed that  the  world  and  society  are  all  in  all  to 
her. 

I  walked  down  to  the  little  hamlet  this  morning 
to  see  the  Penberthys.  The  rector  joined  me 
coming  back,  and  showed  me  a  great  curiosity,  as 
he  calls  it.  I  had  often  noticed  it  before,  but 
knew  not  what  it  was,  —  a  circular  mound  or 
earthwork,  within  which  stand  two  great  stones, 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


227 


covered  with  a  third,  making  a  kind  of  little 
grotto.  There  seems  to  have  been  a  fourth  slab, 
forming  another  side,  but  it  has  fallen  down.  Dr. 
Burgoin  says  this  earthen  bank,  and  the  little 
grotto  it  encloses,  are  the  work  of  the  British 
people  long  ago,  before  the  Saxons,  or  even  the 
Romans,  came  into  this  land.  He  says  there  are 
many  such  about  here,  and  have  been  many  more ; 
but  the  vandal  plough,  as  he  calls  it,  has  destroyed 
them.  He  has  himself  a  fine  museum  of  Roman 
coins,  pottery,  and  the  like,  found  in  his  various 
explorations,  and,  what  he  values  still  more,  a  kind 
of  necklace  or  circlet  of  gold,  which  he  dug  out 
of  an  earthwork  on  his  own  father's  estate,  near 
Arlington. 

Dr.  Burgoin  tells  me  that  Dame  Penberthy 
really  came  to  church  with  her  daughter-in-law, 
last  Sunday.  He  is  very  much  pleased.  I  asked 
him  what  arguments  he  had  used  to  induce  her  to 
do  so. 

"None,  directly,"  he  answered.  "I  have  not 
found  much  use  in  that.  I  did  but  read  and  pray 
with  her,  and  strive  to  console  her  with  those  argu- 
ments which  are  common  to  all  Christians.  She 
told  me  yesterday,  of  her  own  accord,  that  she 
hoped  grace  had  been  given  her  to  forgive  even 
her  husband's  murderer." 

I  am  glad  if  she  can  forgive  him.  I  can't,  and 
that  is  the  truth ;  neither  can  I  forgive  myself  for 
being  such  a  blind  fool,  as  I  can  see  now  that  I 
was.  When  I  think  of  those  meetings  in  the  park, 


228  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


—  of  the  things  he  said  to  me,  and  the  liberties  I 
allowed  him,  —  I  am  ready  to  eat  my  own  heart 
for  rage  and  shame.  But  all  that  is  done  now. 
I  shall  never  love  any  man  again. 

January  10. 

Our  people  have  returned.  Betty  does  not 
seem  to  have  enjoyed  herself  greatly,  though  she 
says  every  one  was  very  kind  Nor  do  I  think  the 
company  was  much  to  my  aunt's  taste,  though  she 
says  my  uncle  Richard  and  his  wife  are  good  peo- 
ple, and  the  girls  would  be  very  presentable  with 
a  little  polish.  To-morrow  we  go  to  Fullham,  my 
uncle's  estate,  where  Mr.  Cheney,  who  has  rented 
the  place  for  five  years,  desires  to  see  my  uncle  on 
business. 

January  20. 

We  came  home  last  night,  after  a  week's  visit 
at  Fullham,  and  glad  am  I  to  be  quiet  once  more. 
Such  a  house  full  of  company,  —  dancing  and 
card-playing  every  night,  when  a  sufficient  num- 
ber of  gentlemen  could  be  mustered  sober  enough 
for  partners.  Mr.  Cheney  has  made  a  great  deal 
of  money  in  one  way  or  other ;  no  one  seems  to 
know  exactly  how,  only  he  has  been  many  years 
in  South  America  and  the  West  Indies.  A  lady 
whispered  to  me  that  every  one  knew  Mr.  Cheney 
had  made  the  most  of  his  wealth  by  piracy  and 
the  slave-trade,  for  all  he  held  his  head  so  high. 
I  did  not  think  she  need  have  said  as  much,  seeing 
that  she  was  partaking  of  his  hospitality.  He  is  a 
small,  dark  man,  with  very  piercing  eyes,  which 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  229 


seemed  to  me  always  as  it  were  on  the  alert, 
watching  every  thing  and  everybody ;  but  that 
might  be  only  my  fancy,  after  what  the  lady  told 
me.  He  is  polite  and  accomplished;  but  I  could 
not  like  him,  for  all  his  compliments,  nor  Bess 
either.  Mrs.  Cheney  is  a  fine,  handsome  lady, 
well  educated,  and  graceful,  whom  he  married 
abroad,  they  say  the  daughter  of  a  Spanish  gran- 
dee whom  he  carried  off.  He  is  very  kind  and 
attentive  to  her,  but  I  can't  help  thinking  she  is 
afraid  of  him.  He  has  been  very  liberal  in  his 
dealings  with  my  uncle,  allowing  him  to  take 
any  furniture  he  pleased,  though  all  went  with 
the  house.  Betty  has  brought  away  a  desk  and 
cabinet  which  Meg  always  used,  and  my  aunt 
has  given  me  a  lute  and  a  Avorkbox  which  were 
hers.  Mr.  Cheney  made  us  each  a  handsome 
present  at  parting.  I  don't  think  aunt  was  sorry 
to  come  away,  though  the  company  was  much  to 
her  taste.  The  truth  is,  that  play  ran  pretty 
high  of  nights,  and  I  suspect  my  uncle  hath  a 
weakness  that  way.  I  know  a  good  deal  of 
money  changed  hands,  both  among  the  men  and 
women. 

I  had  one  pleasure  connected  with  the  visit ;  I 
met  my  old  acquaintance  Mr.  Studley,  who  dined 
with  us  one  day  along  with  his  father.  We  had 
quite  a  little  chat  afterward  in  the  withdrawing 
room,  he  having  made  his  escape  from  the  table 
early.  He  tells  me  my  lady  is  in  London,  and 
that  she  finds  great  comfort  in  Mrs.  Patty's  society. 


230  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

I  am  glad  of  it ;  but  I  wish  she  were  down  here, 
that  I  might  see  her  sometimes. 

"  She  is  an  excellent  lady,"  remarked  my  aunt, 
"but  she  lives  in  a  world  of  her  own." 

"  Pardon  me,  madam,"  said  Mr.  Studley,  bowing, 
"  not  a  world  of  her  own.  My  good  Lady  Clar- 
enham's  conversation  is  in  heaven." 

My  aunt  was  prevented  from  answering  by 
someone  who  asked  her  a  question.  Mr.  Studley 
asked  me  if  I  were  enjoying  my  visit. 

"  In  some  ways,"  I  answered.  "  I  like  to  hear 
Mrs.  Cheney  play  and  sing,  and  I  am  glad  to  have 
beheld  the  great  sea  with  my  own  eyes.  It  must 
be  lovely  here  in  summer." 

"  We  must  take  you  up  to  North  Devon,  and 
show  you  the  ocean  there,"  said  Mr.  Studley,  with 
animation ;  and  he  began  to  describe  to  me  the 
great  cliffs  affronting  the  waves,  the  deep  caverns 
under  them,  with  hidden  rifts  through  which  are 
thrown  up  columns  of  spray  when  the  surf  is 
high,  the  long  coombes  running  down  to  the  sea, 
with  wooded  banks,  and  clear  streams  running 
through  them,  and  I  know  not  what  other  beau- 
ties. Presently  he  checked  himself,  and  said  apolo- 
getically, — 

"  Pardon  me  if  I  weary  you.  Perhaps  you  do 
not  care  for  such  things." 

"  You  do  not  weary  me,"  I  answered.  Ci  I  love 
to  hear  of  natural  scenery." 

"  You  have  been  abroad  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  told  him  no,  and  added  that  I  had  hardly 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


231 


been  out  of  the  sound  of  Bow  bells  till  I  came  to 
Devon.'* 

"And  you  like  the  country,"  he  said.  "You 
do  not  pine  for  London?  " 

"  No,  indeed ! "  I  answered  with  truth.  "  I 
never  care  to  see  it  again.  But  you  have  been 
abroad?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  something  of  a  traveller  for  a 
man  of  my  age,"  he  answered.  "  I  have  been  as 
far  as  Jerusalem." 

I  asked  him  some  questions,  and  we  had  really 
a  very  pleasant  talk.  He  speaks  fluently,  yet  mod- 
estly, and  has  very  little  to  say  about  himself. 
Before  we  parted  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  little 
wooden  box  containing  a  small  cross  carved  in 
veined  wood. 

"  You  were  saying  that  you  would  like  to  pos- 
sess something  that  came  from  Jerusalem.  Will 
you  accept  this  cross  which  I  bought  at  Bethle- 
hem, instead?  The  box  is  of  sandal-wood,  and 
was  made  at  Jaffa,  which  is  thought  to  be  the 
Joppa  of  Scripture." 

I  could  not  well  refuse  the  gift,  and  I  must  say 
I  was  very  much  pleased  with  it.  The  cross  is 
made  of  olive-wood,  very  daintily  carved,  and  the 
box  has  a  sweet  perfume.  Afterwards  I  was  a  lit- 
tle doubtful  whether  I  had  done  right  in  accepting 
a  present,  and  showed  it  to  my  aunt. 

"  There  was  no  harm  in  taking  such  a  present 
as  that,"  said  my  aunt.  "Young  ladies  should 
not  accept  valuable  gifts  from  gentlemen  unless 


232  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

they  are  accepted  suitors,  but  a  mere  curiosity 
which  has  no  special  money  value  is  quite  a  differ- 
ent matter.  But  I  am  pleased  to  see  you  so  open, 
Dolly.  If  young  ladies  would  always  be  so,  they 
would  save  themselves  and  their  friends  a  great 
deal  of  trouble." 

I  think  I  know  that.  I  am  resolved  I  will  have 
no  secrets  from  my  aunt  while  I  am  under  her 
roof. 

When  I  showed  the  cross  to  Dr.  Burgoin,  he 
said  he  would  add  a  chain  to  it,  and  gave  me  a 
string  of  carved  pearl  beads  which  he  said  came 
from  Nazareth.  It  seems  he  hath  also  been  in  the 
Holy  Land,  and  even  as  far  east  as  Shiraz  in  Persia, 
when  he  was  travelling  with  my  uncle  Foster. 

January  21, 

I  have  heard  a  piece  of  news  which  I  don't  know 
how  to  believe.  Dr.  Burdett  dined  here.  He  has 
recently  been  to  Bath,  and  was  amusing  my  aunt, 
who  is  not  very  well,  with  accounts  of  the  hu- 
mors of  that  place.    Presently  he  turned  to  me. 

"I  met  an  old  friend  or  acquaintance  of  yours, 
Mrs.  Dolly.  My  brother  was  sent  for  to  see  a 
lady  with  an  attack  of  spasms ;  and,  as  he  had  a 
broken  leg  on  his  hands,  he  sent  me  in  his  stead  to 
see  my  Lady  Corbet." 

"My  old  mistress,"  said  L  "And  how  did 
you  find  her?" 

"  With  as  promising  an  attack  of  indigestion  as 
one  would  wish  to  see." 


Mrs,  Studley's  Diary. 


233 


"  I  suppose  she  had  been  eating  lobster  again," 
said  I. 

"  Exactly.  She  had  a  hard  time,  but  I  relieved 
her  at  last.  Her  gentlewoman,  a  very  nice  mid- 
dle-aged body,  hearing  I  was  from  Exeter,  asked 
me  if  I  had  met  you,  and  seemed  very  glad  to  hear 
from  you." 

"Dear  Mrs.  Williams!  She  was  ever  a>  most 
kind  friend  to  me,"  said  I. 

"  She  is  not  likely  to  stay  long  where  she  is,  if 
all  tales  be  true,"  said  the  doctor.  "  My  lady  is 
going  to  be  married." 

"  Impossible  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Very  possible,"  said  the  doctor.  "  Such  things 
happen  every  day. 

"  But  she  has  been  married  twice  before ;  and  she 
was  always  complaining  of  Sir  Charles  for  spend- 
ing her  money  and  neglecting  her,  as  she  said." 

"  I  suppose  she  thinks  4  better  luck  next  time,.' " 
observed  my  uncle.  "  Who  is  the  happy  man  on 
this  occasion?" 

"  One  Capt.  Morley,  an  officer  of  Kirke's.  It  is 
said  he  has  made  a  deal  of  money  to  his  own  share 
in  the  late  confiscations." 

"  A  nice  way  to  make  money,"  said  my  uncle. 

"  A  way  that  some  greater  people  than  he  have 
not  been  ashamed  of,"  said  Dr.  Burdett.  "Even 
the  queen's  ladies  of  honor  have  traded  in  the 
ransoms  of  the  poor  little  maidens  who  were  be- 
trayed by  their  schoolmistress  into  presenting  the 
duke  with  a  banner." 


234  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


"  Well,  I  wonder  at  that,"  said  my  uncle.  "  One 
would  not  be  surprised  at  any  thing  in  such  a 
hound  as  this  Morley,  but  that  ladies  should  meddle 
with  such  gains  does  amaze  me." 

"  Scornful  dogs  will  eat  dirty  puddings,  if  they 
be  but  rich  enough,"  observed  the  doctor.  He 
#is  always  shocking  my  aunt  with  his  proverbs, 
which,  truth  to  tell,  are  apt  to  be  more  forcible  than 
elegant.  But  just  now  her  kind  heart  was  too 
much  occupied  with  her  poor  little  niece  to  allow 
her  to  give  her  kinsman  more  than  a  reproving 
look. 

"  Dorothy,  my  love,  had  you  not  better  change 
your  seat  ?  I  fear  the  air  blows  on  you  from  that 
window,"  said  she.  "  Thomas,  set  Mrs.  Dorothy's 
chair  and  plate  here  by  me." 

The  little  bustle  of  the  change  made  a  diversion, 
and  when  we  were  settled  my  aunt  asked  Dr. 
Burgoin  (who  also  dined  with  us)  if  it  were  true 
that  the  Bath  had  been  known  so  long  as  people 
said.  No  more  was  needed  to  set  the  good  man 
off  full  tilt  on  his  favorite  hobby-horse ;  and  be- 
tween King  Blalud  and  the  Romans,  and  I  know 
not  what  Saxon  saints,  the  perilous  subject  was 
forgotten.  I  never  did  see  any  one  with  so  much 
tact  and  skill  as  my  dear  aunt.  When  we  were 
alone  together,  I  could  not  forbear  putting  my 
arms  round  her  neck  and  kissing  her,  though  she 
does  not  encourage  caresses.  She  returned  the 
kiss,  and  told  me  I  had  behaved  beautifully,  adding 
that  I  had  better  lie  down  and  rest  a  little,  and 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


235 


that  I  need  not  appear  at  supper  unless  I  liked. 
I  told  her  I  would  rather  go  out  in  the  air,  and 
walk,  to  which  she  consented. 

But  to  think  of  his  marrying  that  old  woman, 
old  enough  to  be  his  mother,  and  with  all  he  knows 
of  her  temper.  If  I  wished  for  revenge  for  all  my 
wrongs,  which  I  am  sure  I  do  not,  I  am  in  a  way 
to  have  it ;  but,  as  I  think  of  it,  I  do  believe  she 
always  liked  him.  She  never  made  him  any  of  the 
insulting  speeches  she  bestowed  so  liberally  on 
every  one  else,  and  she  would  always  go  to  extra 
expense  for  supper  when  he  visited  us.  Poor  Mrs. 
Williams,  I  wonder  what  she  will  do !  I  am  sure 
she  will  never  in  the  world  live  under  the  same 
roof  with  that  man,  whom  she  always  disliked.  I 
know  she  has  saved  money ;  and,  besides,  her  skill 
and  accomplishments  will  easily  find  her  another 
place.  But  I  think  she  will  feel  sadly,  for  I  know 
she  loved  her  mistress. 

My  head  aches  again  to-night,  but  I  am  deter- 
mined I  will  not  be  ill  if  I  can  help  it.  I  fancy 
Dr.  Burdett  thought  something  was  wrong,  for  he 
asked  me  specially  after  my  health,  and  told  me  to 
take  my  Jesuits'  bark  again. 

January  30. 

I  have  had  a  slight  return  of  fever,  but  not 
nearly  so  bad  as  the  last,  and  I  am  nearly  well 
again ;  so  that  I  hope  to  go  down  to  the  village  to- 
morrow to  see  Priscilla  Penberthy,  who  has  lost 
her  pretty  little  maid.  Poor  thing,  she  has  sorrow 
on  sorrow,  and  yet  she  is  so  very  good !    I  don't 


236  Through  Unknown  Wags;  or. 


understand  it.  Sometimes  I  think  the  best  people 
have  the  most  trouble,  like  poor  Mr.  Baxter  and 
the  Pendergasts ;  and  then  again  I  think  of  mine 
own,  which  certainly  did  not  proceed  from  any 
goodness  on  my  part. 

February  1. 

I  have  had  an  adventure  which  came  near  cost- 
ing me  dear.  That  I  am  alive  to  write  it  down,  is 
owing  to  Mr.  Studley.  I  had  been  down,  to  see 
poor  Priscilla,  whom  I  found  indeed  in  deep  afflic- 
tion, but  taking  her  trouble  in  such  a  sweet  and 
patient  spirit  as  I  never  saw  before,  and  could  not 
too  much  admire.  She  says  Dr.  Burgoin  hath 
been  very  kind  to  her.  He  has  quite  won  over 
Dame  Penbcrthy,  who  now  goes  to  church  every 
Sunday.  Coming  back  I  took  a  somewhat  lonely 
path  through  the  park,  intending  to  look  for  snow- 
drops, which  grow  very  plentifully  at  one  place, 
which  they  say  was  once  a  piece  of  the  old  convent 
garden.  I  found  abundance  of  the  prett)^  white 
blossoms  peeping  above  the  short  grass,  and  gath- 
ered my  hands  full  of  them.  I  had  come  within 
sight  of  the  nun's  grave  (so  the  people  call  the 
little  grotto  within  the  earth-work,  from  some  idle 
tale  or  other),  when  I  heard  a  strange  noise  behind 
me  ;  and  looking  round  I  saw  a  great  stag  pushing 
his  way  through  the  bushes. 

I  was  not  scared  at  first,  for  the  stags  are  not 
often  dangerous  so  late  in  the  winter ;  but  I  sup- 
pose something  had  put  him  out  of  humor,  for  the 
moment  he  saw  me  he  began  pawing  and  tearing 


Mrs.  Studley' s  Diary.  237 


up  the  earth,  and  bellowing,  —  I  don't  know  the 
proper  name  for  the  noise  they  make.  I  looked 
about.  There  was  no  tree  that  I  could  climb  or 
even  get  behind.  I  had  sense  enough  not  to  run, 
and  I  retreated  backward  toward  a  great  oak  in 
which  was  a  hollow  wherein  I  thought  I  might 
creep.  The  stag  seemed  to  grow  more  and  more 
enraged  every  moment,  now  making  a  rush  toward 
me,  and  now  stopping  as  I  stopped,  and  tearing 
up  the  turf.  I  was  weak  from  my  illness,  and 
feared  every  moment  to  fall.  I  am  not  a  coward, 
but  I  had  given  myself  up  for  lost,  when  I  heard 
a  clear,  cheery  voice  behind  me  say  in  encouraging 
tones,  — 

"  To  the  stones,  Mrs.  Corbet,  to  the  stones ;  but 
do  not  run,  for  your  life.    I  will  divert  him." 

And  with  that  Mr.  Studley  stepped  out  into  the 
open  glade ;  and  taking  off  his  cloak  he  shook  it, 
shouting  loudly  at  the  same  time.  But  the  stag 
was  not  to  be  diverted.  He  seemed  to  regard  me 
as  the  one  enemy  whom  he  had  been  seeking  all 
his  life.  He  just  turned  his  head  a  moment,  and 
then  made  another  rush. 

"  Ah,  well,  we  must  fight  for  it  then !  "  said  Mr. 
Studley  composedly.  He  drew  his  sword  as  he 
spoke,  calling  to  me  to  go  on.  But  my  strength 
was  spent,  and  I  dropped  in  a  heap  on  the  ground, 
and  covered  my  face  ;  but  I  did  not  faint.  I  heard 
the  sound  of  a  desperate  struggle,  and  then  a  fall. 
I  dared  not  look  up  till  a  hand  was  laid  on  my 
shoulder,  and  a  kind  voice  said  cheerily,  — 


238  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


"  Look  up,  Mrs.  Dorothy.  The  danger  is  over. 
Look  up  and  see  your  fallen  adversary." 

I  looked  up :  Mr.  Studley  was  standing  by  rne, 
covered  with  blood  and  dust,  but  apparently  un- 
hurt. The  stag  lay  on  the  ground  dead.  Like  a 
fool,  instead  of  thanking  my  preserver,  I  burst  into 
tears.  I  think  my  weeping  scared  Mr.  Studley 
almost  as  much  as  the  stag  had  frightened  me. 
However,  he  behaved  very  well.  He  brought  me 
some  water  from  a  spring  near  by,  in  a  cup  which 
he  took  out  of  his  pocket ;  fanned  me  with  his  hat ; 
and,  when  I  made  an  effort  to  rise,  he  helped  me 
to  my  feet,  and  stood  looking  at  me  with  such  a 
face  of  alarm,  that  he  nearly  set  me  off  laughing. 

"  Don't  mind  me,"  said  I.  "  It  was  silly  to  cry ; 
but  I  am  not  very  strong,  and  a  little  thing  over- 
sets me." 

"  An  attack  from  an  enraged  stag  can  hardly  be 
called  a  little  thing,"  said  Mr.  Studley,  looking 
immensely  relieved.  "  I  am  overjoyed  that  I  hap- 
pened to  come  this  way.    Thank  God." 

He  took  off  his  hat,  and  spoke  as  if  he  meant  it. 

"  But  you  are  worn  out,  and  it  is  too  cold  and 
damp  for  you  to  sit  down.  Let  me  take  you  to 
the  house,"  said  he  ;  uand  in  good  time  here  comes 
Sir  Robert  to  call  me  to  account  for  killing  his 
deer." 

My  uncle  was  indeed  just  coming  down  the 
path  from  the  house. 

"  Hullo,  Dolly  !  I  was  coming  to  look  for  you," 
he  shouted.    "  Dan  Lee  has  just  told  me  that  the 


Mrs.  Studley' s  Diary.  239 


old  black  stag  was  in  a  fury ;  and  I  feared  he  might 
meet  you  and  do  you  a  mischief.  Who  have  we 
here,  — Mr.  Studley?" 

"  At  your  service,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Studley,  bow- 
ing. "  As  to  the  stag,  he  will  do  no  more  mischief, 
I  take  it,  for  yonder  he  lies." 

"  Hullo,  what  does  this  mean  ?  "  asked  Sir  Rob- 
ert, staring  first  at  the  deer  and  then  at  Mr. 
Studley.  "  Are  you  turned  deer-stealer,  Master 
Precisian  ?  " 

"You  see  at  least  I  have  not  carried  off  my 
booty,  Sir  Robert,"  answered  Mr.  Studley,  smiling: 
"  so  you  can  send  me  to  jail  as  soon  as  you  please, 
since  you  have  taken  me  red-handed." 

"Mr.  Studley  saved  my  life,  uncle,"  said  I;  and 
then,  collecting  my  wits,  I  told  him  all  about  it. 

"  I  hoped  to  entangle  the  creature  in  my  cloak, 
and  so  spare  his  life,"  added  Mr.  Studley ;  "  but 
he  baffled  me,  so  we  had  a  hand-to-hand  fight  for 
it.  I  thought  he  would  be  too  much  for  me,  and 
longed  for  my  good  hunting-knife  instead  of  this 
toy,"  taking  up  his  sword  from  the  grass ;  "  but  I 
will  hold  it  sacred  henceforth,  since  it  has  done 
such  good  service." 

"And  are  you  unhurt  yourself?"  asked  my 
uncle ;  "  you  know  *  hurt  of  hart '  is  no  laughing 
matter." 

"I  have  but  a  few  scratches,  which  are  of  no 
manner  of  consequence,"  answered  Mr.  Studley. 
"  Had  we  not  better  take  Mrs.  Dolly  to  the  house, 
Sir  Robert?" 


240  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


"Ay,  do  so;  and  I  will  take  order  for  this 
venison." 

"  He  was  a  gallant  fellow,"  remarked  Mr.  Stud- 
ley,  pausing  a  moment  to  look  at  his  fallen 
adversary.  "How  happens  it  that  he  keeps  his 
horns  so  late  as  this  ?  " 

"  That  I  can't  tell  you.  It  was  an  oddity  of 
his,  and  for  that  and  his  great  size  I  prized  him. 
But  you  have  done  well,  sir,  and  I  thank  you 
most  heartily,"  added  my  uncle,  with  that  courtly 
grace  which  belongs  to  him  with  all  his  roughness. 
"  We  had  been  a  sorrowful  household  if  old  Bevis 
had  trampled  down  our  clove-gilliflower.  Now 
you  must  stay  and  sup  with  us.  Nay,  I  will  take 
no  denial,"  as  Mr.  Studley  began  to  speak  of  his 
disarray.  "I  will  lend  you  a  suit,  or  send  for 
one  of  your  own ;  but  you  must  give  my  lady  a 
chance  to  thank  you  for  saving  our  dear  niece." 

So  they  settled  it  between  them,  and  Mr.  Stud- 
ley  staid ;  but  I  did  not  help  to  entertain  him, 
for  I  was  no  sooner  in  my  room  than  I  was  taken 
with  a  chill,  enough  to  shake  me  to  pieces,  so  that 
Betty  ran  for  Sharpless  and  for  her  mother  in  all 
haste.  The  poor  child  really  thought  I  was  dying. 
But  Dr.  Burnett  being  summoned  (he  is  staying 
here  at  present)  said  the  trouble  only  came  from 
my  being  scared  and  over-wrought.  He  gave  me 
some  composing  drops,  and  bade  Sharpless  bring 
me  some  tea,  a  drink  which  he  greatly  approves, 
and  which  Sharpless  regards  with  horror,  as  I 
remember  Mrs.  Williams  used  to  do.    He  would 


Mrs.  Studley  s  Diary. 


241 


prepare  it  for  me  himself,  tempering  it  with  cream 
and  sugar  ;  and  I  must  say  I  found  it  very  com- 
forting and  refreshing.  Then  he  would  have  a 
cup  himself;  and  by  some  magic  of  coaxing  he 
made  Sharpless  have  another,  and  even  allow  that 
it  was  pleasant. 

My  aunt  came  up  to  see  me  after  supper,  and 
told  me  Mr.  Studley  had  made  himself  very  agree- 
able. It  seems  he  is  visiting  Dr.  Burgoin,  who  is 
his  old  tutor. 

"  He  is  a  fine  young  man,"  said  my  aunt : 
"  'tis  a  pity  he  has  taken  up  such  a  strict  set  of 
notions/' 

"  Such  as  what,  madam  ? "  asked  Betty,  who 
had  staid  with  me  instead  of  going  to  supper. 

"  Oh,  he  happened  to  let  fall  that  he  had  been 
in  Seville,  where  you  know  your  father  went  with 
my  Lord  Sandwich,  when  he  was  embassador  to 
Spain.  But  when  Sir  Robert  asked  him  about  their 
bull-feasts,  he  answered,  almost  with  horror,  that 
he  had  never  witnessed  one ;  and  on  Sir  Robert's 
asking  why,  he  said  he  could  not  think  the  sight 
of  innocent  beasts  tortured,  and  men's  lives  put  in 
jeopardy,  was  one  for  a  Christian  man  to  delight 
in.  And  when  Sir  Robert  said  he  had  seen  good 
Christian  men,  and  women  also,  looking  on  at  a 
bull-baiting,  Mr.  Studley  said  very  gravely,  6  Sir 
Robert,  can  you  imagine  our  blessed  Lord  and  his 
mother  making  a  part  of  the  company  at  such  a 
show?'  I  think  your  father  would  have  been 
downright  angry  if  the  young  man  had  not  just 


242  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or. 


done  us  such  a  service.  —  Is  he  a  Presbyterian, 
do  you  know,  Dolly  ?  " 

"No,  aunt;  I  heard  him  say  when  he  was  at 
Lady  Clarenham's  that  he  was  an  unworthy  mem- 
ber of  the  Church  of  England." 

"  Ah,  well,  I  am  glad  of  it  with  all  my  heart ! " 
said  my  aunt,  as  though  she  was  rejoicing  that  he 
was  not  a  forger  or  coiner.  "  But  it  is  a  great 
pity  that  he  has  taken  up  such  notions.  He  ought 
to  know  more  than  to  set  himself  up  to  be  so 
much  better  than  his  elders.  As  if  the  best 
people  in  the  land  did  not  promote  bull-baitings 
as  a  means  of  keeping  up  a  brave  spirit  among 
the  common  people  !  " 

"  I  do  not  see  any  thing  very  brave  in  a  set  of 
men  looking  on  to  see  savage  dogs  torment  a 
poor  tethered  beast,"  said  Betty.  "  I  always  did 
like  it  in  Gen.  Cromwell  that  he  stopped  the  bear- 
baiting,  and  put  the  poor  tortured  creatures  out  of 
their  pain."  1 

"  Hush,  Betty,  you  are  very  much  to  blame," 
said  her  mother  severely.  "I  don't  know  what 
your  father  would  say  to  hear  his  daughter  praising 
Cromwell." 

Betty  was  silent,  of  course,  but  she  did  not 
look  very  penitent.  I  must  say  I  think  she  was 
right ;  and,  if  a  thing  is  wrong,  I  don't  see  that 

1  Macaulay  says  the  Puritan  contrived  to  have  the  pleasure  of 
tormenting  both  the  spectators  and  the  bear,  while  the  story  he 
tells  proves  exactly  the  contrary  to  any  thinking  person.  But 
Macaulay  never  hesitated  to  sacrifice  any  thing  to  the  witty  or 
graceful  turn  of  a  paragraph. 


Mrs.  Studley' s  Diary. 


243 


the  fact  of  respectable  people  encouraging  it  makes 
the  matter  any  better. 

February  28. 

I  have  quite  recovered  from  my  adventure,  which 
did  Mr.  Studley  more  harm  than  it  did  me.  The 
wound  on  his  arm,  which  he  made  so  light  of  that 
he  would  hardly  let  my  aunt  do  it  up  with  some 
of  her  famous  healing  balsam,  inflamed,  and  was 
very  painful,  and  even  dangerous.  However,  Dr. 
Burnett  cured  it  at  last.  I  am  glad  he  was  staying 
here.  He  has  been  examining  my  uncle  Foster's 
books  for  some  scientific  matter  or  other.  There 
are  a  great  quantity  of  them,  as  well  as  many 
manuscripts,  both  in  Greek  and  Arabic,  which  Dr. 
Burnett  says  are  very  valuable.  He  showed  us 
one  very  old  one,  done  on  vellum,  which  he  says 
is  Persian.  It  looks  as  if  an  army  of  flies  and 
spiders  had  held  a  desperate  engagement,  and  left 
their  severed  members  behind  them.  I  believe 
Sharpless  was  out  and  out  afraid  of  it. 

As  I  said,  Mr.  Studley  had  a  bad  time  with  his 
arm,  but  it  is  now  quite  well  again.  He  has  made 
us  several  visits,  and  is  a  prime  favorite  with  my 
uncle,  who  is  obliged  to  own  that  the  young  man 
is  no  milksop,  though  he  is  so  strict  in  his  religious 
notions.  There  is  a  very  fine  young  horse  on  the 
place,  of  the  best  blood,  and  a  most  beautiful 
creature,  but  so  wild  and  fierce  in  his  temper  that 
no  one  has  been  able  to  break  him  heretofore,  and 
all  the  men  are  afraid  of  him.  Mr.  Studley  begged 
my  uncle  to  allow  him  to  take  the  creature  in 


244  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

hand,  and  he  consented,  somewhat  unwillingly, 
thinking  it  a  dangerous  experiment ;  but  in  a 
week's  time  Mr.  Studley  had  Sultan  as  tame  as 
a  kitten,  and  the  creature  will  follow  him  any- 
where, —  all  by  the  force  of  kindness,  as  it 
seems,  though  the  grooms  will  have  it  there  is 
some  magic  in  the  matter.  My  uncle  told  us 
about  it.  He  said  Mr.  Studley  walked  up  to  the 
door  of  the  loose  box ;  and  when  Sultan  came  at 
him,  laying  back  his  ears  and  showing  his  teeth, 
he  just  held  out  his  hand  to  him.  Sultan  stopped 
as  if  amazed,  and  presently  approaching,  almost 
timidly  as  it  seemed,  began  smelling  his  hand 
and  arm.  By  and  by  Mr.  Studley  slipped  the 
other  hand  over  his  head  and  began  stroking  his 
ears,  and  presently  offered  him  some  sugar  in  his 
open  palm ;  and  so  he  went  on  from  one  endear- 
ment to  another,  till  Sultan  at  length  allowed  his 
new  friend  to  slip  a  bridle  on  him  and  lead  him 
about.  Mr.  Studley  says  he  learned  the  secret 
among  the  Arabians,  who  never  beat  their  horses 
nor  break  them,  as  we  understand  breaking,  but 
bring  them  up  to  be  friends  and  companions.  It 
does  seem  a  much  more  sensible  way.  I  think  I 
should  try  it  with  children  if  I  had  any ;  but  it  is 
not  likely  I  shall  ever  be  married. 

March  1. 

A  great  thing  has  happened.  Mr.  Studley  has 
asked  my  uncle  for  my  hand  in  marriage,  bringing 
a  letter  from  his  father  to  the  same  effect,  the  old 
gentleman  being  confined  with  gout. 


Mrs.  Studley9  s  Diary. 


245 


At  first,  when  my  aunt  broke  the  matter  to  me, 
I  thought  I  could  not  entertain  the  idea  for  a 
moment;  but  she  has  given  me  several  days  for 
consideration,  and  I  have  changed  my  mind.  I 
shall  tell  my  aunt,  when  she  asks  me,  that  I  will 
marry  Mr.  Studley. 

In  the  first  place,  though  I  can  never  love  him 
nor  any  man  again  in  that  way,  yet  Mr.  Studley 
is  one  that  I  can  heartily  respect  and  admire.  'Tis 
true  he  is  over-strict,  it  may  be,  in  his  notions ; 
but  that  is  a  fault  on  the  right  side.  If  he  does 
not  play,  he  will  not  gamble  away  his  substance, 
as  so  many  young  men  —  yes,  and  old  ones  —  do  in 
these  days ;  and  if  he  is  no  drinker,  I  shall  not  be 
mortified  by  seeing  him  under  the  table,  or  hearing 
him  talk  vile,  blasphemous  nonsense,  in  his  cups, 
as  poor  little  Mrs.  Lightfoot's  husband  did  at  Full- 
ham,  I  remember. 

Then,  though  my  aunt  and  uncle  make  light  of 
it,  I  know  I  am  something  of  a  charge  to  them. 
My  uncle  lost  much  money  by  his  ventures,  and  I 
can't  but  think  he  has  lost  more  in  play  with  Mr. 
Cheney.  He  hath  been  to  Fullham  two  or  three 
times,  and  always  comes  home  in  a  bad  humor ; 
and  my  dear  aunt  looks  very  anxious  and  unhappy 
at  these  times.  Mr.  Studley  asks  for  no  dowry 
with  me.  He  is  his  father's  only  son,  and  the  old 
gentleman  is  rich. 

And  I  suppose  I  must  marry  some  time  or  other. 
My  good  aunt  thinks  women  were  made  for  no 
other  end,  and  that  no  so  great  misfortune  can 


246  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or^ 

befall  any  one  as  to  be  an  old  maiden,  as  they  call 
them  hereabouts.  I  have  heard  her  wonder  how 
old  Lady  Jem  Stanton's  family  could  have  allowed 
her  to  follow  such  an  eccentric  course.  (She  was 
a  lady  of  quality,  who  lived  in  her  own  house  not 
very  far  from  here.  She  never  married,  but  kept 
her  house  full  of  orphan  maids,  whom  she  brought 
up  in  all  good  ways  and  housewifely  accomplish- 
ments. She  died  only  the  other  day  at  a  great  age.) 
My  aunt,  since  we  came  here,  has  talked  of  several 
matches  for  me ;  and  I  know  she  would  never  be 
satisfied  to  have  me  live  single.  I  owe  every 
thing  to  her  kindness,  and  I  owe  my  life  to  Mr. 
Studley's  bravery ;  and,  if  I  can  pleasure  them  both 
at  once,  why  should  I  not  do  so  ?  I  can  honestly 
say  that  I  have  not  one  particle  of  love  for  Mr. 
Morley  remaining  in  my  heart.  Somehow,  the 
notion  of  his  marrying  that  woman,  and  being 
subject  to  her  caprices,  did  set  him  in  such  a 
mean  and  ridiculous  light  that  it  finished  the  cure 
which  Dame  Penberthy  began.  I  could  never  love 
a  cruel  man. 

I  think  I  can  make  Mr.  Studley  a  good,  dutiful 
wife.  I  wish  I  did  love  him  more ;  but  my  aunt 
says  that  will  come,  and  perhaps  she  is  right.  I 
do  love  him,  in  a  way ;  that  is,  I  would  like  him 
for  my  brother.  If  he  had  taken  to  Bess,  I  should 
have  been  delighted. 

March  3. 

I  told  my  aunt  this  morning,  on  her  questioning 
me,  that  I  was  ready  to  content  her  and  my  uncle 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  247 


by  marrying  Mr.  Studley.  She  was  very  much 
pleased,  kissed  me,  called  me  her  good,  dutiful 
daughter,  and  was  sure  I  should  be  very  happy. 

My  uncle  looked  rather  doubtful. 

"  I  don't  know.  She  does  not  look  as  she  did 
when  the  other  fellow  was  in  hand,"  he  muttered, 
thinking  aloud,  as  his  fashion  is  ;  and  then  to  me, 
"  Are  you  sure  you  are  content,  Dolly  ?  I  won't 
have  my  clove-gillyflower  sacrificed  to  anybody, 
not  if  I  go  out  as  a  ploughman  to  keep  her." 

"I  am  sure,  Dolly"  —  my  aunt  began,  but  my 
uncle  interrupted  her. 

uLet  her  speak  for  herself,  my  lady,"  he  said. 
"  What  is  it,  Doll?    Speak  out,  and  have  no  fear." 

Thus  adjured,  I  told  my  uncle  I  was  perfectly 
content  to  marry  Mr.  Studley,  whom  I  esteemed 
above  any  young  man  I  had  ever  seen,  and  re- 
spected as  well ;  and  that  I  would  do  my  best  to 
make  him  a  good  wife.  I  don't  think  my  uncle 
was  quite  satisfied ;  but  he  kissed  me,  and  wished 
me  joy,  and  then  said  he  would  j)ut  poor  Studley 
out  of  pain. 

I  hope  Mr.  Studley  will  not  expect  too  much  of 
me.  I  shall  try  to  have  a  full  and  frank  explana- 
tion with  him  if  I  can.  I  won't  marry  any  man 
under  false  pretences. 

March  4. 

Mr.  Studley  called  this  morning,  and  my  aunt 
informed  him  that  I  had  accepted  his  proposals. 
I  must  say  he  behaved  beautifully.  But  oh,  if 
they  would  only  let  me  live  single  !    I  don't  won- 


248  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


der  girls  in  popish  countries  go  into  nunneries  to 
escape  from  unwelcome  suitors.  Good  as  Mr. 
Studley  is,  and  much  as  I  respect,  — yes,  and  love 
him  too,  in  a  way,  —  I  would  rather  go  back  to 
my  old  way  of  life  with  my  mistress  than  marry 
him.  But  the  die  is  cast.  My  word  is  passed, 
and  I  cannot  recede.  All  that  remains  is  to  do 
my  duty  in  that  state  of  life  to  which  it  hath 
pleased  God  to  call  me. 

When  I  said  as  much  to  Betty,  she  took  me  up 
sharply. 

"  You  do  not  quote  it  rightly,  Dolly.  The  cate- 
chism does  not  say,  6  To  which  it  hath,'  but  6  to 
which  it  shall  please  God  to  call  me.'  That  is  a 
very  different  matter.  And  I  think  one  ought  to 
be  very  sure  of  that  call,  before  undertaking  what 
you  are  about  to  do." 

Betty  grows  more  and  more  serious  every  day. 
She  has  read  my  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  till  I  think 
she  knows  it  by  heart.  My  aunt  mentioned  it  to 
the  bishop  ;  but  my  lord  only  laughed,  and  said 
young  maids  were  always  taking  fancies,  and  it 
was  not  worth  while  to  make  them  of  importance 
by  opposition. 

He  talked  with  Betty  very  kindly  and  seriously 
afterward,  and  I  suppose  he  was  satisfied  with  her 
spiritual  state  ;  for  he  told  my  aunt  that  her  daugh- 
ter was  a  young  lady  of  an  excellent  spirit,  though 
somewhat  inclined  to  austerity. 

"But  that  is  a  good  fault,  and  not  common  in 
these  days,"  he  added.    "  For  my  part,  I  should 


Mrs.  Studley^s  Diary. 


249 


never  quarrel  with  a  young  lady  for  loving  visit- 
ing the  poor  more  than  dancing,  and  her  closet 
and  her  Bible  more  than  the  card-table  and  the 
Devil's  books,  as  you  know  Mrs.  Dolly's  Presbyte- 
rian friends  call  them." 

"But  you  do  not  think  there  is  any  harm  in 
cards,"  said  my  aunt. 

"  No  more  than  in  push-pin  or  jack-straws,  con- 
sidered in  themselves,"  answered  his  lordship ; 
"  'tis  the  use  that  is  made  of  them.  You  must 
see,  Lady  Fullham,  all  the  evils  that  are  now 
wrought  in  the  community  by  gambling ;  how 
many  families  are  impoverished  and  disgraced 
thereby." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  my  aunt,  sighing. 

And,  indeed,  gambling  does  prevail  to  a  fearful 
extent.  Even  the  clergy  and  their  families  are  not 
exempt.  I  think  the  bishop  might  give  us  a  ser- 
mon on  it,  instead  of  some  of  those  on  passive 
obedience  and  Divine  right  with  which  he  wearies 
us,  —  or  me  at  least.  I  can't  help  wondering  how 
his  non-resistance  would  hold  out  if  the  king  were 
to  put  one  of  his  popish  priests  into  the  see  of 
Exeter,  for  instance,  —  a  thing  not  so  unlikely  to 
happen,  if  matters  go  on  as  we  hear  they  are 
going  at  present. 

March  8. 

The  day  is  fixed  for  my  wedding,  —  the  15th  of 
April.  My  aunt  and  Sharpless  are  over  head  and 
ears  in  wedding-clothes.  My  uncle  has  been 
liberal,  though  I  know  he  is  cramped  for  money ; 


250  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


but  I  think  most  of  my  things  have  come  from  my 
aunt's  private  purse,  and  then  she  hath  given  me 
most  of  the  wardrobe  provided  for  poor  dear  Meg. 

Mr.  Studley  has  done  us  another  service,  which 
I  think  hath  bound  my  aunt  to  him  forever.  He 
was  invited  to  go  with  my  uncle  to  Fullham. 
Now,  he  does  not  like  Mr.  Cheney  any  more  than 
I  do,  and  he  neither  drinks  to  excess  nor  gambles : 
so  the  society  at  Fullham  is  not  specially  conge- 
nial to  him ;  but  I  think  he  read  something  in  my 
aunt's  face  which  made  him  consent  to  Sir  Robert's 
request  that  he  would  ride  over  with  him.  Con- 
trary to  what  has  been  the  case  heretofore,  my 
uncle  came  home  rather  early.  The  next  morn- 
ing I  was  sitting  with  my  aunt,  mending  of  some 
rare  old  lace  which  she  has  given  me,  when  my 
uncle  came  in  and  threw  himself  down  in  a  great 
chair. 

"  So,  busy  with  the  wedding  finery,"  said  he.  "  I 
must  say,  Gilliflower,  thou  hast  chosen  the  queer- 
est stick  of  a  bridegroom."  (As  if  I  had  chosen 
him  at  all !)  "  I  would  you  had  seen  him  last 
night." 

"Why,  what  did  he  do?"  asked  my  aunt. 
"  Nothing  unbecoming,  I  trust." 

« Why,  no ;  at  least,  I  suppose  you  would  not 
say  so.  The  beginning  was  at  supper.  Mr. 
Cheney  produced  some  Greek  wines,  which  he 
greatly  commended ;  but  Studley  would  not  taste 
them,  saying  he  had  tried  them  in  their  native 
country,  and  found   them   heady  and  heating. 


Mrs.  Studley' s  Diary.  251 

And  I  think  they  are.  I  know  they  got  into  my 
head,  which  is  pretty  well  seasoned." 

"  Well,"  said  my  aunt,  as  my  uncle  paused. 

"  Well,  Cheney  urged  them  on  Studley,  and 
laughed  and  jeered  him  more  than  was  becoming 
a  gentleman  at  his  own  table,  I  thought ;  but 
not  a  whit  was  my  master  moved,  nor  did  he  lose 
his  temper,  though  I  saw  his  eyes  flash  at  one  jest 
of  his  host's,  which  I  will  not  repeat  in  a  lady's 
ears.  By  and  by  we  sat  down  to  cards.  Mr. 
Studley  played  a  game  or  two  of  piquet;  but 
when  the  betting  began  he  put  down  his  cards, 
and  rose  from  the  table. 

"  fc  What,  man  !  Art  afraid  of  losing  thy  pocket- 
money,  and  being  whipped  by  thy  dad  ? '  said 
Mr.  Cheney.  '  Thou  lookest  at  the  cards  as 
though  they  were  so  many  spotted  adders.  Take 
courage,  they  will  not  bite  thee.' 

"  4  If  you  had  had  a  dear  friend  bitten  to  death 
by  an  adder,  you  would  not  care  to  play  with  the 
beast,  not  even  if  his  fangs  were  drawn  ;  much 
less  when  you  saw  them  dropping  venom,'  an- 
swered Studley. 

"  ;  What  mean  you  by  that  ? '  asked  Mr.  Cheney. 

" 4 1  can  tell  you  the  tale,  if  you  desire  to  hear 
it,'  answered  Studley. 

"  '  Oh,  tell  it,  by  all  means ! '  sneered  our  host ; 
and  I  do  think  the  man  looks  like  an  incarnate 
fiend  when  he  wears  that  mocking  smile.  I  sup- 
pose he  thought  to  find  more  food  for  mockery, 
but  he  never  was  more  mistaken  in  his  life.  Mr. 


252  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

Studley  began,  and  told  us  of  a  friend  of  his  who 
had  been  at  college  and  abroad  with  him,  who  was 
drawn  into  high  play  at  Paris,  whither  he  had 
gone,  carrying  with  him  a  considerable  sum  be- 
longing to  some  widow  lady.  He  was  drawn  in- 
to play,  and  lost  it  all.  Then  he  came  to  his 
friend's  apartment,  and  told  the  story,  saying  that 
he  could  not  and  would  not  survive  the  disgrace. 

"  'I  strove  to  keep  him,  saying  the  money  might 
be  retrieved  or  replaced,'  continued  Studley,  'but 
all  my  arguments  were  in  vain.  He  broke  from 
me  - and  rushed  into  the  street,  and  I  lost  him  in 
the  crowd.  The  next  day  I  saw  his  dead  body 
drawn  out  of  the  river.  He  had  left  a  letter  to 
me,  enclosing  one  to  his  father ;  and  I  had  to  carry 
to  the  poor,  white-haired  old  gentleman  the  news 
of  his  only  son's  disgrace  and  death.  He  never 
held  up  his  head  afterward,  but  died  in  a  few 
days.  Do  you  wonder,  gentlemen,  that  I  have  no 
liking  for  that  which  ruined,  body  and  soul,  the 
man  I  had  loved  like  an  own  brother  ? ' 

"  That  was  his  tale,  but  I  can't  tell  it  as  he  did. 
I  can  tell  you,  he  brought  tears  to  my  eyes,  for 
one.  Lightfoot,  who  has  been  both  playing  and 
drinking  deeply  of  late,  flung  down  his  hand, 
and  said,  with  a  deep  curse,  that  he  wished  the 
Devil,  who  invented  cards  and  dice,  had  them 
again.  Cheney  blustered  a  little,  and  talked  of 
spoil-sports  and  wet  blankets  ;  but  all  the  company 
took  sides  with  Studley,  and  he  fairly  broke  up 
the  party  for  that  time." 


Mrs.  Studley"  s  Diary. 


253 


"I  am  thankful  for  it,"  said  my  aunt. 

"  Well,  you  may  be  thankful,  my  lady,"  returned 
my  uncle  bluntly.  "  I  was  in  no  state  to  play 
coolly,  and  I  might  have  lost  pretty  deeply.  I 
have  already  left  in  Cheney's  hands  more  than 
I  can  well  afford,  and  I  am  ready  to  swear  that 
I  will  go  thither  no  more." 

"  I  wish  you  would,  Sir  Robert,"  said  my  aunt 
earnestly.  "  There  is  that  about  the  man  which 
repels  me,  though  I  cannot  tell  what  it  is." 

"  They  tell  hard  stories  about  him,"  observed 
my  uncle  ;  "  as  that  he  hath  been  a  slave-dealer,  or 
even  a  pirate.  Studley  says  he  is  sure  he  hath 
seen  him  in  the  East,  though  he  cannot  tell  where. 
But  I  would  you  had  seen  and  heard  the  young 
fellow.  I  wonder  at  such  notions  in  the  son  of 
old  George  Studley,  who  was  any  thing  but  a  saint 
when  I  knew  him." 

Anyhow,  I  like  Mr.  Studley  none  the  worse  for 
his  conduct.  I  think  it  must  take  more  courage 
for  a  young  man  to  stand  up  in  that  way,  than  if 
he  had  faced  a  battery  of  cannon. 

I  have  had  a  great  pleasure  in  a  letter  from  Bab 
Andrews.  She  promised  to  write  me,  but  I  did 
not  build  much  upon  it,  knowing  how  much  she 
would  have  to  engage  her  attention,  and  how  in- 
frequent is  the  communication ;  but  then,  if  Bab 
promised  any  thing,  it  was  ever  certain  to  come  to 
pass.  I  am  sure,  if  my  aunt  knew  her,  she  would 
get  over  some  of  her  violent  prejudices  —  for  they 
are  no  more— against  every  one  who  does  not  be- 


254  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

long  to  the  Church  of  England.  My  mistress  felt 
just  so  towards  every  one  who  was  not  a  Presby- 
terian, and  could  hardly  forgive  Mr.  Baxter  for 
allowing  that  an  Anabaptist  could  write  a  good 
book.  I  think  one  is  about  as  reasonable  as  the 
other.  Of  course,  I  believe  my  side  is  right, 
because  it  would  not  otherwise  be  my  side ;  and  if 
I  think  salt  is  white,  I  must  needs  think  that  man 
mistaken  who  says  it  is  black  or  red,  but  that 
need  not  make  me  consider  him  a  hypocrite  or 
a  villain.  However,  I  have  got  a  long  way  from 
Bab  and  her  letter.  She  tells  me  they  had  a  long 
though  a  prosperous  voyage,  and  landed  at  a  place 
called  Newcastle,  which  is  some  way  up  the  great 
river  of  the  Delawares,  and  quite  a  thriving  little 
town.  However,  she  did  not  stay  there,  but  in  a 
few  days  removed  to  the  other  side  of  the  river,  to 
West  Jersey,  where  her  aunt  lives  in  a  place  called 
Cohansey  Bridge-town.  Bab  says  the  bridge  is 
there,  such  as  it  is ;  but  the  town  is  still  greatly  to 
seek,  there  being  not  more  than  six  or  eight  houses 
in  all.1    Bab  writes  as  follows  :  — 

"I  had  expected  a  good  many  hardships  and 
privations,  and  was  surprised  enough  to  find  my 
good  aunt  living  in  great  comfort,  in  a  neat  house, 
partly  of  stone  and  partly  of  hewn  logs,  but  all 
pleasant  and  comfortable.  The  stone  is  of  a  dark 
red  color,  and  when  first  taken  out  of  the  ground 
cuts  very  easily,  but  by  exposure  to  the  weather 


1  I  am  not  quite  certain  that  there  was  any  town  at  all,  though 
there  was  a  bridge  at  this  point  in  very  early  times. 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


255 


becomes  hard  enough  for  building.  The  log 
houses  are  warm,  and  to  my  thinking  very  pretty. 
The  worst  is  they  harbor  insects,  and  especially 
earwigs  as  long  as  your  finger,  very  frightful,  but 
not  dangerous,  though  they  can  give  a  nip  in 
self-defence  ;  but  they  are  very  timid  and  easily 
killed.  My  aunt  hath  a  fine  orchard  of  peach  and 
apple  trees ;  and  we  have  abundance  of  nice  winter 
apples,  and  of  peaches  also,  which  are  preserved 
by  being  cut  into  quarters  and  dried  in  the  sun. 
They  are  very  good,  and  so  plentiful  that  the 
poorest  people  can  have  them.  The  climate  is 
mild  even  now,  and  I  enclose  a  rosebud  which  I 
gathered  in  our  garden  yesterday. 

"  There  is  full  liberty  in  these  parts  for  every  one 
to  worship  God  in  his  own  way.  We  have  half  a 
dozen  sorts  represented  in  this  little  settlement, — 
Quakers,  Presbyterians,  and  Anabaptists, — but  all 
live  in  peace.  The  Presbyterians  have  Sunday 
worship  in  the  little  log  schoolhouse,  when  there 
is  any  one  to  conduct  it." 

She  tells  me  a  great  deal  more  about  the  place 
and  country,  —  of  the  Indian  savages,  who  live  in 
great  peace  with  the  white  people ;  of  the  birds, 
which  are  abundant;  and  of  the  little  school  which 
she  has  set  up,  and  in  which  she  has  gathered  all 
the  children  of  the  settlement,  —  and  ends  with 
these  words :  — 

"I  would  you  were  with  me,  Dolly.  Do  you 
know,  when  I  used  to  build  my  castle  in  the  air, 
about  coming  out  here,  you  always  occupied  one 


256  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or^ 

room  thereof?  I  fully  intended  to  ask  you  to 
come  with  me,  whenever  I  came ;  but  of  course, 
after  your  aunt  so  kindly  adopted  you,  that  was 
out  of  the  question." 

When  I  read  this  to  my  aunt,  who  was  much 
interested  in  the  letter,  she  said,  — 

"  But  you  would  never  have  gone,  Dolly?  " 

"I  believe  I  should,  madam,"  I  answered.  "I 
think  I  should  have  done  almost  any  thing  to  es- 
cape from  Lady  Corbet,  and  I  was  always  fond  of 
Bab." 

"  Ah,  well,  it  hath  all  ended  for  the  best,"  ob- 
served my  aunt.  "  I  am  glad  I  came  in  the  nick 
of  time  to  save  you  from  such  a  fate." 

Am  I  glad?  I  don't  know  that  I  am.  I  think 
I  would  like  to  be  in  New  Jersey  with  Bab  at  this 
minute,  gathering  of  wild  flowers,  which  she  says 
make  the  land  like  a  garden,  or  helping  her  in 
her  little  school,  or  her  aunt  in  the  farm-work. 
No,  I  can't  say  that  I  think  all  is  for  the  best. 
But,  as*  things  were  then,  should  I  have  gone  ?  I 
can't  tell,  and  there  is  no  use  in  speculating. 

I  don't  understand  my  own  feelings  at  all.  I 
think  sometimes  I  have  none.  I  am  content  to  drift 
with  the  current,  careless  where  I  shall  land.  I 
hope,  for  the  sake  of  my  family,  I  shall  make  no 
utter  shipwreck.  I  hope,  too,  that  I  shall  make  a 
good  wife  to  my  husband,  who  certainly  deserves 
a  far  better  one. 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  257 


March  20. 

How  fast  the  time  runs  on !  News  has  come 
from  London  which  has  decided  my  aunt  and 
uncle  to  go  thither  as  soon  as  the  wedding  is  over. 
It  is  something  concerning  my  uncle's  speculating 
venture,  out  of  which  he  hopes  to  save  somewhat. 
I  think  my  aunt  is  pleased.  So  is  not  Betty,  who 
hates  London  and  all  the  round  of  plays  and  balls 
and  all  the  rest  of  the  gayeties. 

Mr.  Studley  hath  been  home  to  visit  his  father, 
and  I  cannot  but  think  since  his  return  his  spirits 
have  been  somewhat  flatter  than  his  wont.  He 
tells  me  one  thing  which  I  am  glad  to  hear ;  namely, 
that  his  father  hath  promised  to  fit  up  a  separate 
house  on  the  estate  for  us,  that  we  may  keep 
house. 

"  'Tis  but  a  plain  old  house  and  not  large,"  said 
he  to  me,  "  but  it  is  comfortable ;  and  I  thought 
you  would  rather  govern  your  own  household, 
though  it  were  but  a  small  one." 

"  You  were  right,"  said  I.  "  I  believe  it  is 
much  the  best  arrangement.  I  don't  care  how 
plain  the  house  is,  so  we  do  but  have  it  to  our- 
selves." 

"  You  don't  care  for  luxury,"  remarked  Mr. 
Studley,  looking  well  pleased. 

"  I  won't  say  that,"  I  answered.  "  I  like  it  well 
enough,  but  even  in  my  short  life  I  have  seen 
enough  to  know  that  outward  things  have  little  to 
do  with  happiness." 

"  You  are  right  there,  Dolly,"  said  Mr.  Studley, 


258 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


sighing.  "  Unless  there  be  peace  within,  no  out- 
ward peace  avails  any  thing.  But  I  hope  we  shall 
have  both  in  our  quiet  little  home." 

Then  he  went  on  to  describe  to  me  the  house 
and  garden,  the  poultry  yard,  and  other  conven- 
iences ;  and  I  listened,  glad  to  please  him  in  any 
way.  Finally  I  asked  about  the  church  and  par- 
son.   He  shook  his  head  rather  sadly. 

"  The  church  is  well  enough,  though  small  and 
rustical,  but  there  is  a  fine  painted  window,  and 
sundry  old  carvings  and  monumental  brasses 
which  were  the  delight  of  my  good  old  tutor  when 
he  visited  us ;  but  as  to  the  parson,  the  less  said  the 
better.    He  is  no  credit  to  the  place  that  he  fills." 

"  That  must  be  a  grief  to  you,"  I  remarked. 

"  It  is,  indeed,  and  I  would  matters  were  other- 
wise ;  but  at  present  I  can  do  nothing  save  wait 
and  pray." 

I  never  saw  a  young  man  like  Mr.  Studley,  —  I 
mean  one  whose  religion  seemed  so  a  part  of  him- 
self. He  never  parades  it  any  more  than  he  does 
his  travels  or  his  music;  but,  when  he  has  occasion 
to  speak  thereof,  it  is  with  no  more  hesitation  or 
embarrassment  than  he  Avould  speak  of  being  in 
Rome. 

April  10. 

The  day  is  near  at  hand,  and  all  the  prepara- 
tions are  finished,  for  which  I  am  glad.  I  have 
been  so  out  of  patience  with  the  foolish  finery  at 
times,  I  have  felt  an  insane  longing  to  tear  it  to 
pieces  or  burn  it  up.    If  Mr.  Studley  were  as 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary. 


259 


foolishly  fond  as  some  men  are  in  the  like  circum- 
stances, I  believe  I  should  quarrel  with  him  ;  but 
that  is  not  his  way.  Only  at  times  I  catch  his 
eyes  fixed  on  me  with  a  look  that  goes  to  my  heart, 
and  makes  me  feel  like  weeping.  Such  a  look 
from  Mr.  Morley  would  have  made  me  happy  for 
a  week ;  but,  try  as  I  will,  I  can't  feel  the  love  for 
him  that  I  did  for  that  unworthy  man.  I  am  glad 
he  is  out  of  my  way,  where  I  am  not  like  to  see 
him.  I  wonder  if  he  is  married.  To  think  of  a 
man  selling  himself  in  that  way!  But  Betty  says 
Lord  Chesterton  told  her  that  Mr.  Morley  is  a 
gamester  and  loaded  with  debt.  I  fancy  he  is 
much  mistaken  if  he  thinks  my  lady  will  pay 
them  for  him.  I  do  hope  at  least  he  will  have  the 
honesty  to  tell  her  of  them. 

I  am  not  going  to  write  in  my  journal  any  more  ; 
that  is,  more  than  to  set  down  the  day's  events,  per- 
haps. I  can't  quite  make  up  my  mind  to  destroy 
these  two  volumes  which  have  been  such  a  comfort 
to  me,  but  I  shall  seal  them  up  and  put  them  away. 
I  will  not  write  any  thing  that  I  cannot  show  to 
my  husband,  for  I  am  resolved  I  will  have  no 
secrets  from  him. 

If  I  could  but  love  him  as  I  loved  that  other ! 
If  I  had  only  seen  him  first !  If  only  something 
would  not  keep  whispering  his  name  to  me,  and 
suggesting —    But  there,  I  won't  write  it. 

I  am  resolved  that  I  will  do  my  best  to  be  a 
good  wife  to  Mr.  Studley,  and  a  dutiful  daughter 
to  his  old  father,  who,  from  what  I  hear,  is  liks 


260  Through  Unknown  Ways. 

enough  to  be  somewhat  of  a  trial.  It  may  be  that 
in  time  something  like  love  will  come  to  me.  I 
think  my  aunt  suspects  the  state  of  my  heart,  for 
she  discoursed  largely  last  night  of  the  nature  of 
true  affection,  and  how  much  better  foundation 
for  happiness  were  respect  and  esteem  than  the 
blind  passion  commonly  called  love  I  wonder  if 
she  thought  so  when  she  married  Mr.  Foster. 
From  what  I  have  learned  about  him  from  Dr. 
Burnett  and  Dr.  Burgoin,  he  and  my  aunt  could 
not  have  been  very  congenial  spirits,  yet  Dr. 
Burnett  says  it  was  altogether  a  love  match. 

Ah,  well,  the  die  is  cast !  The  sacrifice  is  made, 
and  there  is  no  receding.  Since  I  must  needs  be 
married,  I  am  glad  my  aunt's  choice  has  fallen 
upon  such  a  worthy  man,  whom,  as  I  have  said  to 
myself  over  and  over  again,  I  can  respect  and 
admire,  if  I  do  not  love  him. 


THE  THIED  BOOK. 


BOOK  III. 

Studley  Hall,  1687. 
HEN  I  was  looking  over  my  things  in 
preparation  for  removing  from  the  farm 
to  this  house,  I  opened  a  trunk  mail  in 
which  I  had  stored  away  a  quantity  of  finery 
unsuitable  to  a  farmer's  wife.  Turning  over  the 
things,  my  hand  fell  upon  a  square  sealed  package, 
of  which  I  could  not  remember  the  contents. 
Breaking  the  seals,  I  found  my  two  old  journal 
books,  which  used  to  stand  me  in  stead  of  con- 
fidential friends  and  father  confessor.  I  fell  to 
looking  them  over ;  and  Mr.  Studley  coming  in  at 
the  moment,  I  read  him  the  last  pages  I  wrote. 
He  laughed,  and  kissed  me,  saying,  "All's  well 
that  ends  well." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  I  answered ;  "  but,  Ned,  I  can  see 
now  what  a  wrong  I  did  you,  and  what  a  sin  I 
committed,  in  wedding  you  as  I  did ;  promising  so 
solemnly  to  love,  honor,  and  obey,  when  my  heart 
was  not  in  the  matter." 

u  Ah,  well,  you  have  been  a  fairly  dutiful  and 
obedient  wife,  save  when  you  will  go  out  in  the 
wet  to  hunt  up  your  missing  fowls,"  said  Mr. 

263 


264  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

Studley  ;  "  and  as  to  love,  I  think  there  is  a  little 
between  us,  Dolly."  Then  he  added  more  gravely : 
"  In  truth,  dear  wife,  if  there  was  any  blame,  it 
attached  more  to  me  than  to  you.  I  was  not  so 
blinded  by  my  love  but  that  I  could  see  how  you 
felt  toward  me.  You  would  hardly  have  walked 
down  as  far  as  the  red  gate  to  meet  your  bride- 
groom coming  to  woo,  even  in  the  finest  weather, 
as  you  did  yesterday  in  the  rain  to  meet  your 
stupid,  humdrum  old  goodman  coming  from  market, 
you  foolish  woman !  " 

"  I  wanted  to  see  if  you  had  forgotten  my  knit- 
ting-pins," said  I,  pretending  to  pout. 

"  And  so  send  me  back  for  them.  No  doubt  I 
should  have  gone,  like  an  obedient,  hen-pecked 
husband,  as  I  am ;  only  you  forgot  to  ask  for  them 
at  all,  and  here  they  are  in  my  pocket.  But 
indeed,  Dolly,  I  was  to  blame.  I  knew  your  heart 
was  not  in  the  match ;  but  it  seemed  to  my  self- 
will  as  if  I  could  not  live  without  you,  and  I  was 
vain  enough  to  believe  I  could  win  your  regard  if 
I  had  a  fair  chance." 

"  How  conceited  some  men  are  !  "  I  said. 

"  But,  Dolly,  since  you  are  like,  or  so  I  hope,  to 
have  a  little  more  leisure,  with  our  mended  for- 
tunes, why  should  you  not  continue  your  chronicle 
down  to  the  present  time  ?  "  continued  my  husband. 
"  It  will  be  a  pleasant  pastime,  and  our  daughter 
will  like  to  read  them  when  she  is  a  sober  house- 
dame  like  thyself." 

"  It  seems  odd  to  think  that  mite  of  a  creature 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


265 


should  ever  be  a  sober,  married  woman,"  said  I, 
regarding  my  three  months  old  Barbara  asleep 
in  her  cot ;  "  but  I  suppose  we  were  all  like  that 
once.  I  hope  she  may  have  as  good  a  fortune 
as  her  mother  before  her ;  only  I  would  not  have 
her  left  as  I  was,  for  the  lot  of  an  orphan  maid  is 
too  often  a  sad  one.  But  then,  as  you  say,  '  all's 
well  that  ends  well.'  " 

Mrs.  Williams,  coming  in  for  some  directions 
about  the  new  cheeses,  put  an  end  to  the  talk  for 
that  time,  but  my  husband  adverted  to  it  more 
than  once  afterward ;  and  as  we  are  now  quite 
settled  in  our  new  home,  and  we  have  the  house 
well  cleaned,  which  it  greatly  needed,  and  every 
thing  is  going  on  well,  I  know  no  reason  why  I 
should  not  content  him.  He  has  gone  to  Plymouth 
for  a  week  to  see  about  some  property  there,  and 
I  have  a  mind  to  surprise  him  when  he  comes 
home. 

To  begin  with  the  wedding.  It  went  off  as  such 
things  usually  do,  I  suppose.  Betty  was  brides- 
maid, and  I  am  sure  a  soberer  one  was  never  seen. 
I  don't  think  I  was  a  very  sober  bride.  Somehow, 
just  at  the  last,  a  reckless  spirit  took  possession  of 
me.  Dr.  Burnett  had  been  to  the  Bath  again,  and 
had  brought  news  that  Mr.  Morley  was  actually 
married  to  his  ancient  bride :  she  is  sixty-five  at 
the  very  least.  When  I  heard  that,  as  I  said 
before,  a  spirit  of  recklessness  took  possession  of 
me.  I  was  determined  to  show  that  I  did  not 
care :  so  I  talked  and  laughed,  entered  with  zeal 


266  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

into  all  the  preparations  for  the  festivities,  and 
feigned  the  greatest  interest  in  my  wedding  array. 
I  saw  Mr.  Studley  look  at  me  with  wondering  eyes 
more  than  once.  I  suppose  he  must  have  said 
something  to  my  aunt,  for  I  heard  her  tell  him 
that  young  maids'  spirits  were  always  variable  at 
such  times. 

The  wedding-day  is  much  like  a  dream  to  me. 
We  were  married  at  the  parish  church ;  and  almost 
the  only  clear  remembrance  I  have  is  the  face  of 
old  Dame  Penberthy,  as  she  pressed  a  bunch  of 
blue  and  white  violets  into  my  hand  at  the  church 
door. 

We  had  no  very  great  wedding  festivities,  for 
the  absence  of  which  my  aunt's  mourning  was 
a  sufficient  excuse.  Our  only  guests  were  the 
bishop's  family,  who  are  my  aunt's  relations,  a  few 
of  our  nearest  neighbors,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Light- 
foot.  Mr.  Lightfoot  had  sought  Mr.  Studley 's 
company  since  that  evening  at  Fullham  which  I 
have  recorded,  and  by  his  persuasion  had  left  off 
cards  and  dice,  and  given  himself  to  retrieving 
his  encumbered  estate.  Mrs.  Lightfoot  looked 
upon  my  husband  almost  as  an  angel,  as  well, 
indeed,  she  might,  poor  little  woman  ! 

The  next  day  after  my  marriage  was  lovely, 
and  my  husband  asked  me  to  walk  out  in  the 
park  with  him.  All  my  high  spirits  had  evapo- 
rated by  that  time,  and  a  kind  of  impatient  mis- 
ery had  succeeded  to  it.  I  felt  as  if  I  could  not 
endure  any  thing.    I  bent  down  to  gather  a  prim- 


Mrs.  Studley^s  Diary. 


267 


rose,  and  as  I  did  so  I  scratched  my  hand  with  a 
thistle  ;  and  in  my  vexation  I  gave  vent  to  an  oath, 

—  a  modish  oath,  such  as  half  the  fine  ladies  in 
London  used  without  ever  giving  it  a  thought.  I 
had  caught  up  the  habit  there,  and  had  been  try- 
ing to  break  myself  of  it ;  but  I  think  such  a  habit 
one  of  the  hardest  in  the  world  to  conquer.  I  was 
brought  to  myself  by  my  husband's  look  of  almost 
horrified  surprise. 

"  Dolly  !  "  said  he,  and  the  tone  spoke  volumes. 
I  felt  the  blood  come  up  in  my  cheeks,  but  I  tried 
to  carry  it  off  lightly. 

"I  did  not  mean  any  thing,"  said  I;  "it  was 
only  a  trick  I  picked  up  in  London.  Everybody 
there  uses  such  wTords." 

u  If  the  whole  world  used  them,  I  could  not  be 
reconciled  to  hearing  them  from  the  lips  of  my 
dear  wife,"  said  Mr.  Studley.  "  See  you  not,  my 
love,  that  it  is  this  very  light  use  of  the  word 
which  the  Commandment  forbids, — the  taking 
the  holy  name  in  vain,  or  lightly?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  I  answered.  "  The  truth  is, 
Mr.  Studley,  I  am  not  one  bit  religious.  I  was 
once,  I  believe;  at  least,  when  I  was  confirmed 
I  made  many  good  resolutions,  and  did  love  to 
read  in  the  Bible  and  to  go  to  church.  But  after- 
wards, somehow,  it  all  became  dim  and  unreal  to 
me.  I  did  not  go  to  church,  and  the  books  I  read 
to  my  mistress  were  only  tasks  to  me  ;  and  since  " 

—  I  stopped,  horrified  at  the  words  which  came  to 
my  lips. 


268  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

"Since  when,  my  dear?"  asked  my  husband 
gently.  "  Canst  thou  not  open  thy  heart  to  thy 
husband,  my  Dorothy?  " 

Now,  I  had  resolved  that  the  name  of  Philip 
Morley  should  nevermore  pass  my  lips,  that  Mr. 
Studley  should  never  know  what  he  had  been  to 
me.  While  I  was  fully  resolved  to  have  no  se- 
crets from  my  husband,  as  soon  as  he  became  so, 
it  seemed  to  me  that  my  single  life  was  mine  own. 

But  I  know  not  what  possessed  me  ;  whether  I 
had  endured  as  long  as  endurance  was  possible,  or 
whether  the  kindness  of  his  manner  broke  down 
my  reserve,  as  ice  is  melted  by  the  warm  south 
winds  :  I  began  at  the  beginning,  and  told  him 
the  whole  story  of  my  life,  —  how  Mr.  Harpe  had 
cheated  me,  and  my  mistress  abused  me ;  how  I  saw 
Mr.  Morley  first,  and  all  about  my  acquaintance 
with  him,  even  to  those  clandestine  meetings  in  the 
park,  which  I  can  never  think  of  without  shame 
and  anger. 

"And  I  can't  be  religious:  how  can  I?"  I  con- 
cluded. "How  can  I  think  Heaven  has  been 
good  to  me,  or  that  any  one  there  loves  me,  when 
I  have  been  so  thwarted  and  shamed  and  tossed 
about  ?  I  might  as  well  think  that  God  cared  for 
one  of  those  withered  weeds,  or  a  bit  of  tangle  on 
the  shore." 

I  stopped,  rather  scared  at  my  own  desperate 
words.    Mr.  Studley  had  been  standing  before 
me,  as  I  sat  on  a  rustic  bench  in  the  shade  of  a 
s  thicket.    To  my  surprise  he  turned  from  me,  and 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary. 


269 


walked  away  without  a  word,  disappearing  among 
the  trees. 

What  would  I  not  have  given  to  recall  what  I 
had  said?  I  had  thrown  away  my  husband's 
love  and  respect ;  and,  now  they  were  gone,  it 
seemed  that  I  would  give  worlds  to  have  them 
back  again.  I  seemed  all  at  once  to  realize  all  I 
felt  for  him.  What  would  he  do?  Would  he 
ever  speak  to  me  again  ?  Would  he  leave  me  al- 
together, and  go  away  ?  What  would  my  friends 
say  if  he  did,  and  where  should  I  hide  my  dis- 
graced head  when  they  knew  all  ? 

Tears  came  to  my  eyes  at  last ;  but  they  were 
hot,  burning  tears,  and  gave  me  no  relief.  I 
covered  my  face  with  my  hands,  and  was  sitting 
in  a  kind  of  heav}^,  listless  despair,  when  all  at 
once  my  head  was  drawn  to  a  warm,  strong  rest- 
ing-place, and  a  kind  hand  wiped  my  tears.  Not 
a  word  was  spoken  till  I  looked  up,  and  said,  ?n  a 
voice  that  was  hardly  articulate,  — 

"  I  thought  you  had  gone  and  left  me." 

"No,  indeed  ;  you  do  not  get  rid  of  me  so  eas- 
ily," replied  my  husband.  "  I  ought  not  to  have 
left  you  alone  so  long,  but  I  confess  I  had  need  of 
a  little  solitude  to  compose  my  spirits." 

"  Then  you  don't  hate  me  ?  " 

"  Not  quite  yet.  It  would  be  a  strange  love, 
methinks,  which  would  be  alienated  by  such  open- 
ness as  yours,  my  Dolly.  I  own  that  for  a  moment 
I  was  shocked  and  startled  by  what  you  told  me. 
But  I  do  not  believe  you  love  this  man." 


270  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


44  No,  indeed,"  I  answered,  with  energy.  "  It  is 
a  wonder  to  me  how  I  could  ever  care  for  him." 

"  It  is  no  great  wonder,  under  the  circumstances. 
But,  Dolly,  you  say  that  you  cannot  love  God  be- 
cause he  hath  dealt  so  hardly  with  you.  Was  it 
hard  dealing  with  you  not  to  leave  you  to  reap  the 
harvest  of  your  own  self-will  and  indiscretion?" 

"No,  perhaps  not.  But  why  did  he  take  my 
mother  from  me,  and  leave  me  a  forlorn  orphan 
maid,  with  no  one  to  guide  me?" 

44  That  I  cannot  tell  you.  It  belongs  to  the 
great  unsolvable  riddle,  —  the  existence  of  evil  at 
all.  But,  Dolly,  is  it  quite  true  that  he  left  you 
with  no  one  to  guide  you?  You  say  that  both 
Mrs.  Williams  and  }^our  friend  Mrs.  Andrews 
warned  you.  And  was  there  not  something  within 
which  confirmed  their  warnings  ?  " 

44  It  is  true,"  I  answered.  44  I  knew  all  the  time 
I  was  doing  wrong." 

"  Exactly.  You  see  your  Father  did  not  leave 
you  alone,  after  all." 

"  I  wish  I  could  feel  that  he  were  my  Father 
indeed,"  said  I.  "I  would  I  could  love  him  as 
you  do.   I  have  tried,  but  I  cannot." 

44  That  is  because  you  have  not  tried  in  the  right 
way,  my  dear  one,"  answered  my  husband.  44  You 
could  not  love  him  while  you  thought  him  your 
foe.  4  We  love  him  because  he  first  loved  us.'  " 
And  with  that  he  began  and  drew  a  picture  of  the 
love  of  God,  and  the  work  of  the  Holy  Trinity  in 
our  redemption,  so  tender,  so  moving,  supporting 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  271 


all  he  said  by  the  words  of  Scripture,  as  I  never 
heard  the  like  from  any  preacher.  I  wept  abun- 
dantly;  but  my  tears  were  cool  and  refreshing,  and 
seemed  to  overflow  and  carry  away  all  remains  of 
that  spring  of  bitterness  in  my  heart  which  had 
been  poisoning  my  life. 

"  But  you  make  my  case  worse  and  worse, 
Edward,"  said  I.  (I  don't  think  I  had  ever  called 
him  by  his  name  before.)  "  If  I  have  been  sin- 
ning all  my  life  against  such  love  as  this  you  de- 
scribe, and  which  I  must  needs  believe  in,  how  can 
I  ever  be  forgiven  ?  What  remains  for  such  a 
sinner?  " 

"  Eternal  life,  if  the  sinner  will  but  take  the  free 
gift  held  out  to  her,"  answered  my  husband.  uDo 
you  not  see,  Dolly,  that  the  fact  of  your  being  a 
sinner,  is  in  one  way  your  title  to  salvation  ?  " 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  I.  "Must  one  not 
be  good  to  be  saved." 

"  Yes  and  no.  You  put  the  cart  before  the 
horse,  as  we  say  in  these  parts.  You  are  not  to  be 
saved  because  you  are  good,  but  you  are  to  be  good 
because  you  are  saved.  If  you  could  work  out 
your  salvation,  then  were  our  Lord's  work  useless. 
But  he  came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners.  You 
are  a  sinner ;  ergo,  he  came  into  the  world  to  save 
you.    Does  not  that  make  it  plain  ?  " 

We  talked  a  long  time.  He  showed  me  at  last, 
plainly,  both  by  the  Bible  and  Prayer-Book,  that  I 
had  only  to  believe  that  the  Lord  had  died  for  me, 
and  to  put  my  trust  in  him,  in  order  to  reap  all  the 


272  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

benefits  of  his  passion.  He  showed  me  how  all 
the  services  and  sacraments  pointed  the  same  way, 
and  served  to  the  same  end,  —  that  God's  children 
were  to  perfect  holiness  in  his  fear,  because  they 
were  his  children  by  creation,  by  adoption  at  our 
baptism,  and  at  last  by  our  own  act  and  deed  con- 
senting thereto.  I  cannot  write,  all  that  he  said. 
I  know  from  that  hour  life  was  a  new  thing  to 
me. 

"But  we  must  not  sit  here  too  long:  the  air  is 
growing  chill,"  said  he.  "  Your  aunt  will  chide 
me  if  you  get  the  ague  from  my  carelessness." 

"  It  will  be  an  ague  well  bought,"  said  I.  And 
then,  a  little  mischievously,  "  Then  you  won't 
quite  give  up  your  wayward  little  wife,  though  she 
has  been  such  a  naughty  girl?  " 

His  only  answer  was  a  kiss,  which  for  the  very 
first  time  I  returned.  From  that  hour  I  began  to 
love  my  husband ;  and  that  love  has  grown,  and 
will  grow  while  life  remains. 

We  went  round  by  the  spring,  and  I  stopped  to 
bathe  my  eyes,  which  were  swollen  with  weeping. 
Nevertheless,  my  aunt  saw  the  traces  of  my  tears, 
and  followed  me  to  my  room,  saying  with  some 
anxiety,  — 

"  I  hope  nothing  has  gone  wrong,  my  love." 

"  No,  dear  aunt,  the  farthest  possible  from 
wrong,"  I  answered ;  "  only  I  have  been  holding  a 
long  talk  with  my  husband.  I  think  we  under- 
stand each  other  better  than  ever  before." 

"  That  is  well,"  said  my  aunt,  evidently  relieved. 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


273 


(I  think  she  had  had  her  misgivings  ail  along.) 
"  I  must  say  one  thing  for  you,  Dolly,  you  are  the 
most  candid  young  person  I  have  ever  met.  I 
feel  that  I  know  more  of  you  than  I  do  of  mine 
own  daughter." 

I  do  think  she  did.  But  if  I  had  grown  up 
under  my  aunt's  system,  should  I  have  been  more 
open  with  her  than  Betty  is?  I  doubt  it.  I  know 
one  thing,  I  will  always  encourage  my  Barbara  to 
open  her  heart  to  her  mother.  How  can  a  child 
be  frank,  a  child  at  least  who  thinks  for  herself, 
who  is  repressed  and  set  down,  and  even  severely 
reproved  for  speaking  out  her  thoughts  when  they 
happen  to  differ  from  her  elders.  I  remember 
how  even  Meg  was  chidden  and  punished  because 
she  said  she  thought  it  not  right  for  women  to 
play  indecent  parts  upon  the  stage.  But  this  is  by 
the  way. 

I  asked  my  aunt  to  excuse  me  from  going  to 
supper,  not  feeling  in  the  mood  to  meet  my  uncle's 
jokes,  which  were  not  the  most  refined.  My  aunt 
kindly  consented,  and  said  she  would  send  Mary 
with  my  tray;  but  Mr.  Studley,  hearing  of  the 
matter,  would  bring  it  up  himself,  aitd  even  feed 
me.  We  got  frolicking  over  it  like  two  silly  chil- 
dren ;  but,  indeed,  my  heart  felt  so  light  I  was  ready 
for  any  thing.  Then  Mr.  Studley  brought  out  a 
new  piece  of  music  he  had  bought  for  me  at 
Exeter,  —  an  evening  hymn,  by  the  good  Bishop  of 
Bath  and  Wells,  set  to  a  fine  canon  of  Tallis's,  — 
and  we  sang  it  together.    We  went  down  to 


274 


Through  Unknown  Ways ;  or, 


prayers;  and  I  think  my  aunt,  and  even  Betty, 
were  satisfied  with  my  looks. 

The  next  day,  when  we  were  alone  together, 
Betty  said  to  me  in  her  blunt  way,  — 

"What  has  come  over  you,  Dolly?  You  look 
as  though  you  had  seen  some  joyful  sight." 

"  And  so  I  have,"  I  answered  her;  and  I  told  her 
a  little  of  the  talk  I  had  held  with  my  husband. 

"  You  have  a  right  to  be  happy,"  said  she,  and  she 
sighed.  "  Dolly,  you  don't  know  how  I  dread  this 
visit  to  London.  I  know  just  how  it  will  be.  All 
the  visiting  and  play-going  and  vanity  will  begin 
over  again,  and  I  cannot  join  in  it.  I  dare  not  do 
so,  thinking  as  I  do.  I  shall  have  to  run  counter 
to  my  mother  in  every  thing,  and  what  will  be- 
come of  me  ?  " 

"Now  you  are  borrowing  trouble,"  said  I.  "If 
I  were  you,  I  would  lay  my  trouble  before  the 
bishop, — you  know  his  lordship  is  always  very 
kind  to  you,  —  and  ask  his  advice." 

"I  have,"  answered  Betty,  "and  much  good  it 
did." 

"  Why,  what  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  He  said  that  while  I  was  under  my  mother,  it 
was  my  duty  to  obey  her  in  all  things  which  did 
not  go  against  my  conscience  ;  and  that  I  must  be 
careful  not  to  make  a  confusion  between  my  con- 
science and  my  taste,  not  to  think  things  must  be 
wrong  because  I  did  not  like  them." 

"  Well,  I  am  sure  that  was  good,"  I  remarked ; 
"  and  what  then  ?  " 


Mr 8.  Studley's  Diary. 


275 


"Then  he  patted  my  head,  and  gave  me  his 
blessing  and  a  book  of  his  friend  Bishop  Wilson's, 
and  bade  me  remember  that  even  in  Vanity  Fair 
Christiana  found  some  good  people,  and  that,  at 
any  rate,  'sufficient  unto  the  day  was  the  evil 
thereof.'  " 

I  don't  see  how  he  could  have  given  Betty  any 
better  advice,  but  I  could  see  she  was  not  satisfied. 
And,  indeed,  my  good  aunt's  theory  and  practice 
were  hard  to  reconcile.  She  gave  us  books  to 
read  which  taught  us  that  this  world  was  nought, 
and  then  would  have  us  live  as  if  it  wrere  all.  I 
could  not  but  wonder  that  the  bishop  should  quote 
such  a  book  as  the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  but  then 
he  reads  every  book  that  comes  in  his  wray.  I 
dare  say  he  might  pick  it  up  at  a  stall,  where  he 
is  always  hunting  for  curiosities  in  that  line. 

The  next  day  but  one  my  husband  and  myself 
set  out  for  our  new  home.  We  were  to  go  by  sea 
from  Exmouth  to  Biddeford,  where  we  would  be 
met  by  my  father-in-law's  horses  and  servants.  I 
had  never  been  on  the  water  in  my  life,  and  was 
scared  at  the  idea,  though  I  would  not  have  said 
so  for  the  world ;  but  my  husband  and  my  uncle 
both  thought  it  would  be  easier  for  me  than  the 
rough  land  journey  over  the  moors,  by  roads 
which  are  not  too  safe  at  any  time,  and  which  have 
been  much  worse  since  the  troubles  last  year  drove 
so  many  desperate  men  to  take  refuge  in  those 
wilds  and  almost  inaccessible  morasses. 

However,  I  must  say  I  found  the  voyage  very 


276  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or. 


pleasant.  The  vessel,  though  small,  was  clean  and 
well  found;  and  the  captain  and  sailors,  who  knew 
my  husband  well,  were  civil  and  attentive.  I  was 
sick  hardly  at  all,  and  there  was  so  much  of  nov- 
elty to  engage  my  attention  that  the  time  seemed 
not  long  to  me. 

We  landed  safely  one  pleasant  morning  at  Bid- 
deforcl,  which  is  a  quaint  little  town,  once  of  con- 
siderable importance,  but  a  good  deal  deca}red. 
We  went  at  once  to  the  principal  inn,  where  we 
ordered  some  refreshment,  as  it  was  nearly  noon. 
While  we  were  eating  and  drinking,  the  landlord 
came  to  say  that  a  man  desired  speech  of  my  hus- 
band ;  and  presently  he  brought  him  up,  —  an 
elderly,  steady  man,  the  very  model  of  an  old- 
fashioned  serving-man. 

"  Welcome,  Andrew !  "  said  my  husband.  "  You 
see  I  have  brought  my  wife." 

The  old  man  bowed,  and  drank  my  health  in  a 
cup  of  ale,  which,  at  my  husband's  sign,  I  poured 
out  and  gave  him. 

"  And  what  is  the  news  from  home  ?  "  asked  my 
husband.  "I  suppose  the  timbered  house  is  all 
ready  for  us." 

"  Why,  no,  Master  Edward,  it  beVt,"  said  the 
old  man  rather  reluctantly.  "  Your  father  has 
altered  his  mind  about  it,  and  you  and  the  young 
mistress  are  to  come  to  Studley  Hall.  I  only 
hope  you  will  like  the  company  you  find  there." 

uWhat  do  you  mean,  Andrew?"  asked  my 
husband ;  and,  as  Andrew  hesitated,  he  added,  with 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  277 


more  impatience  than  is  his  wont,  "  Speak  out, 
man,  and  tell  us  the  truth,  whatever  it  is.  Brxl 
news  does  not  mend  by  keeping." 

"  And  that's  true,  Master  Ned,"  said  the  serving- 
man.  "  Well,  then,  here  it  is.  My  master  hath 
taken  Mr.  Kirton  and  his  sister  to  live  with  him ; 
and  she  rules  the  household  within,  and  he  with- 
out." 

My  husband  turned  ashy  pale,  and  his  eyes  shot 
fire  as  he  asked,  in  a  tone  not  the  least  like  his 
own,  — 

"  Is  he  married  to  her  ?  " 

"  He  says  so,  and  certainly  he  ought  to  be," 
answered  Andrew  reluctantly ;  "  but  no  one  knows 
where  the  wedding  was  done,  nor  who  married 
them.  Anyhow,  my  lady  rules  with  a  high  hand, 
and  most  of  the  old  servants  have  left." 

"  When  was  this  done  ?  "  asked  my  husband,  in 
the  same  hard,  constrained  voice. 

"About  three  weeks  ago,"  answered  Andrew. 
"  My  master  laughed  when  he  told  us,  and  said  he 
would  steal  a  march  on  Master  Milksop.  But  I 
had  best  go  and  see  to  the  horses,"  added  the  good 
old  man,  guessing,  I  suppose,  that  we  would  rather 
be  alone  together.  44 1  shall  be  below  the  win- 
dow in  the  court,  mistress,  if  you  will  but  make 
a  sign  when  I  am  wanted." 

With  these  words  he  withdrew,  shutting  the 
door  behind  him.  My  husband  walked  up  and 
down  the  room  two  or  three  times ;  and  then  drop- 
ping into  a  chair,  and  laying  his  head  on  his 


278  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

folded  arms,  he  fairly  burst  into  tears,  and  sobbed 
like  a  babe. 

I  soothed  him  as  well  as  I  could.  I  was  scared, 
for  there  was  something  terrible  in  the  grief  of  one 
usually  so  self-restrained.  When  I  saw  him  grow- 
ing quiet,  I  ventured  to  ask,  — 

"  What  has  happened,  Edward  ?  Who  are  these 
people  ?  " 

"The  woman  is  such  an  one  as  I  would  not 
have  you  even  name,"  said  he.  "  The  man  is  a 
physician,  —  at  least  so  he  calls  himself,  and  he 
hath  some  skill  that  way.  He  helped  my  father 
in  a  fit  of  gout  in  the  stomach,  and  hath  crept  into 
his  confidence  more  and  more  ;  though  I  believe 
him  as  unworthy  of  trust  as  a  man  can  be.  I 
have  feared  at  times  that  my  father  was  taken 
with  the  woman,  who  is  very  handsome,  in  a 
way ;  but  I  never  thought  to  see  her  in  the 
place  of  my  mother,  a  saint  if  one  ever  lived  on 
earth.  O  Dolly,  to  think  I  should  have  brought 
you  to  this !  "  and  again  he  gave  way  to  his  grief, 
though  but  for  a  few  moments.  Then  composing 
himself,  — 

"  The  question  is,  what  to  do  ?  " 

"Will  you  not  read  your  father's  letter?"  I 
asked,  handing  him  the  letter  which  old  Andrew 
had  given  me.  "  That  may  throw  some  light  on 
the  subject." 

The  letter  was  kind  enough,  though  somewhat 
needlessly  blustering ;  saying  that  we  would  be 
welcome  to  his  house,  provided  that  we  would 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  279 


treat  his  wife  with  respect,  and  that  his  son  was 
prepared  to  behave  like  a  man. 

"  Ay,  I  know  what  that  means,"  said  my  hus- 
band.   "  Well,  what  shall  we  do,  Dolly  ?  " 

"In  my  judgment  we  had  better  take  up  with 
the  invitation,"  I  answered,  trying  to  speak  cheer- 
fully, though  I  was  dreadfully  disappointed.  I 
had  built  so  much  on  going  to  my  own  house. 
"  This  person  is  your  father's  wife,  it  seems ;  and 
as  such  we  must  treat  her  with  respect,  as  he  says. 
If  we  find  we  cannot  live  there,  it  will  be  time  to 
think  what  to  do  next." 

"  But  I  know  not  what  that  will  be,"  said  my 
husband.  "My  father  promised  to  allow  me  a 
house  and  land,  and  four  hundred  pounds  a  year ; 
and  if  he  sees  fit  to  quarrel  with  me,  as  I  make  no 
doubt  he  will,  if  Kirton  can  bring  it  about,  we 
shall  be  left  destitute." 

"  Then  you  shall  take  your  violin,  and  I  will 
take  my  lute,  and  we  will  go  sing  at  fairs  and  wed- 
dings, till  we  win  money  enough  to  rent  a  cottage 
at  Biddeford,  or  somewhere  else,  where  you  shall 
be  parish-clerk,  and  I  will  knit  hose,  and  spin  fine 
thread,"  said  I.  "  In  truth,  dear  Edward,  we  are 
wrong  to  borrow  trouble.  We  are  both  young 
and  strong,  —  not  made  of  sugar  nor  salt,  to  be 
washed  away  in  the  first  shower  of  adversity." 

"  I  don't  know.  I  think  you  have  a  good  deal 
of  both  in  your  composition,  Dolly,"  said  my  hus- 
band. 

"  Of  course  I  have,"  I  answered,  overjoyed  to  see 


280  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

him  smile  again.  "Don't  you  know  that  little  girls 
are  made  of — 

6  Sugar  and  spice,  and  all  that's  nice '  ?  " 

"  I  know  one  little  girl  that  is,  at  all  events,"  he 
answered.  "  Dolly,  what  have  I  done  to  deserve 
such  a  good  wife  ?  " 

"  Why,  nothing,"  I  answered  demurely.  "  Have 
not  you  yourself  taught  me  that  we  don't  get 
good  things  because  we  deserve  them  ?  " 

uAnd  you  think  we  had  better  go  on  to  my 
father's?" 

"  Truly,  I  do." 

"  And  what  is  to  become  of  our  fine  castle  in  the 
air?"  he  asked,  smiling  sorrowfully. 

"  It  is  in  the  air  still,"  I  answered ;  "  but  it  may 
yet  descend  to  earth,  and  rest  on  a  solid  founda- 
tion. And  if  we  cannot  have  our  castle,  why  we 
will  be  content  with  a  cottage,  as  I  said." 

We  talked  matters  over  by  ourselves  and  with 
old  Andrew,  whom  we  called  into  our  counsels. 
I  could  see  that  the  old  man  w^as  very  doubtful 
about  our  reception.  Afterward,  Edward  hav- 
ing gone  out  in  the  town  about  some  business, 
Andrew  told  me  privately  that  he  believed  both 
Mr.  Kirton  and  his  sister  had  done  their  best  to 
prejudice  old  Mr.  Studley  against  his  son,  which 
he  added  was  needless,  as  Mr.  Ned  had  never 
been  a  favorite  with  his  father.  It  seems  there 
was  a  younger  brother  of  a  very  different  dispo- 
sition from  Edward,  and  much  more  congenial  to 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  281 


his  father,  who  was  killed  at  sixteen  by  a  fall  from 
his  horse. 

"  It  was  no  fault  of  Master  Ned's,"  continued 
Andrew.  "Indeed,  he  did  his  best  to  persuade 
poor  Walty  from  going  out.  My  master  had 
taught  him  to  drink  deeply  already,  and  he  was  in 
no  state  to  manage  a  fiery  horse  ;  but  his  father 
cheered  him  on,  and  they  both  laughed  at  Ned 
for  a  milksop  and  a  coward.  But  the  horse  was 
enraged  with  the  whip  and  spur,  which  Walty 
plied  mercilessly  :  he  reared  and  threw  him  off,  and 
his  brains  were  dashed  out  against  the  wall  of  the 
court." 

"  How  very  sad !  But  Edward  was  not  to 
blame  for  that." 

"No,  my  pretty  —  I  mean  my  young  mistress," 
said  the  old  man,  catching  himself  up,  "  but  it 
was  visited  on  him,  for  all  that.  Then  Master 
Ned  took  up  with  strict  notions  about  religion, 
and  that  angered  his  father  still  more.  The  old 
master  did  every  thing  to  drive  them  out,  —  from 
sending  him  to  travel  abroad,  to  putting  him  to 
work  in  the  stable." 

"  Surely,  he  never  did  that,"  said  I. 

"  Indeed  he  did,  mistress.  Many's  the  time  I 
have  seen  Master  Ned  in  his  frock,  rubbing  down 
the  horses  as  cheerfully  as  you  please.  Afterward, 
he  sent  him  abroad  with  my  young  Lord  Stantoun, 
and  then  put  him  to  govern  my  Lady  Clarenham's 
household,  thinking  because  she  was  a  great  court 
lady,  Mr.  Ned  would  get  over  his  strict  notions 
with  her." 


282  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

"It  was  not  a  very  good  choice,  if  that  was 
what  his  father  desired,"  said  I.  "  My  Lady  Clar- 
enham,  though  a  court  lady,  as  you  say,  was  strict 
enough  in  her  own  notions." 

"  So  I  have  heard,  madam.  But  when  Mr.  Stud- 
ley  found  that  out,  he  took  his  son  away  again. 
Then  he  tried  another  way,  and  made  him  his  own 
bailiff;  and  I  would  he  were  so  again,"  said  the 
old  man,  sighing.  "  But  I  doubt  all  that  is  over. 
Kirton  rules  every  thing  on  the  place.  It  is  owing 
to  him  and  his  sister,  I  do  believe,  that  my  master 
changed  his  mind  about  the  Timber  House." 

"But  I  can't  understand  that,"  said  I.  "I 
should  think  these  people  would  rather  have  the 
house  to  themselves." 

"  They  mean  to  have  the  house  to  themselves," 
answered  Andrew  with  a  meaning  look.  "  And  if 
you  take  my  advice,  young  madam,  you  will  leave 
the  most  of  your  things  here  in  safe  keeping,  and 
not  carry  them  to  Studley  Hall,  till  you  see  how 
the  land  lies." 

"What  is  that  you  say?"  asked  my  husband, 
entering  at  the  moment.  Andrew  repeated  his 
words. 

"Your  counsel  is  good,"  said  Mr.  Studley.  "I 
think,  Dolly,  we  will  leave  most  of  our  baggage  in 
the  hands  of  my  good  friend,  Mr.  Gifford  the  mer- 
chant." 

"Very  well,"  I  answered.  "I  have  all  I  shall 
need  at  present  in  the  small  mail  that  was  brought 
thither." 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  283 


"But  we  must  be  riding,  my  love,"  said  my 
husband.  "Andrew,  will  you  see  the  horses 
ready  ?  " 

We  came  in  sight  of  Studley  Court  just  as  the 
sun  was  setting,  and  I  never  saw  a  lovelier  scene. 
The  old  red  brick  house,  shaded  by  great  nut- 
trees,  was,  as  it  were,  nestled  into  a  valley,  or 
glen,  opening  to  the  south-west  toward  the  sea.  A 
clear,  prattling  stream  crossed  the  garden  not 
very  far  from  the  house,  and  fell  in  a  succession  of 
still  pools  and  tinkling  cascades  toward  the  shore. 
The  garden  showed  careful  cultivation  in  times 
past,  though  some  large  weeds  and  many  small 
ones  gave  tokens  of  recent  neglect.  I  saw  my 
husband  shake  his  head  when  he  looked  at  it.  He 
is  very  fond  of  a  garden.  The  whole  place  was 
bathed  in  warm,  soft  sunshine.  The  sea,  at  high 
water,  was  making  a  gentle  roar  on  the  shore  be- 
low, and  the  birds  were  singing  softly  in  the  trees. 
It  looked  the  very  abode  of  peace.  As  we  rode 
into  the  courtyard,  my  father-in-law  appeared  on 
the  steps.  He  was  a  very  handsome,  stately  old 
man;  but  I  did  not  like  his  face,  which  showed 
traces  of  hard  living  and  of  a  violent  temper. 
Perhaps  I  may  have  imagined  a  little,  knowing 
what  I  did  of  him  beforehand.  He  welcomed  me 
with  sufficient  courtesy,  and  his  son  hardly  with 
civility,  I  thought. 

"Well,  Master  Ned,  I  have  stolen  a  march  on 
you,"  he  said  bluntly,  yet  with  a  kind  of  swagger, 
I  thought,  as  if  he  were  som  what  ashamed  of 


284  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


what  he  had  to  tell,  but  meant  to  carry  it  off  with 
a  high  hand. 

"  So  I  hear,  sir,"  answered  my  husband.  "  I 
wish  you  and  your  wife  all  happiness." 

"  Humph  !  "  answered  the  old  gentleman,  some- 
what disconcerted,  as  it  seemed.  "  Mind,  sir,  you 
are  to  treat  my  wife  with  respect.  I  will  have  no 
airs  from  you  or  your  wife  either.  —  Do  you  hear, 
mistress?  " 

I  courtesied  without  answering.  My  former 
experiences  had  taught  me  that  "  mum  chance  is  a 
safe  game,"  as  Sharpless  used  to  say. 

"  Humph !  we  mean  to  be  discreet,  I  see,"  mut- 
tered the  old  gentleman ;  then  aloud,  "  Well, 
well,  you  are  a  pretty  creature,  and  look  as  if  you 
lacked  not  spirit,  little  as  you  are.  Hast  thou  not 
a  kiss  for  thy  old  dad,  child?  " 

"  That  I  am  sure  she  has,  sir,"  answered  Edward 
promptly.  u  I  have  brought  you  a  loving  and 
dutiful  daughter,  father,  who  I  hope  and  believe 
will  be  a  comfort  to  you." 

My  father-in-law  seemed  to  soften  at  these  words. 
He  gave  Edward  his  hand,  which  he  had  not  done 
before,  bade  one  of  the  serving-men  carry  up  our 
mails,  and  asked,  in  some  surprise,  if  that  were  all. 

"  We  left  a  part  of  our  effects  with  Mr.  Gifford, 
in  Biddeford,  sir,"  answered  Ned.  "  We  did  not 
care  to  scare  you  with  too  much  at  once." 

"  Well,  well,  'twas  not  ill-considered,"  said  my 
father-in-law,  giving  me  his  hand  to  lead  me  in ; 
for  we  had  stood  all  this  while  at  the  door,  and 


Mrs.  Studley' s  Diary.  285 


I  had  begun  to  wonder  whether  we  were  to  be 
allowed  to  enter  at  all.  He  conducted  me  to  a 
pretty,  old-fashioned  parlor,  where  sat  his  wife. 

How  shall  I  describe  her?  She  was  a  large 
woman,  and  very  handsome  in  a  way,  with  regular, 
aquiline  features,  bold,  round  black  eyes,  very 
wide  open,  and  abundance  of  dark  hair  growing 
well  back  from  a  rounded  forehead,  and  a  red  and 
white  complexion  which  I  thought  might  owe 
something  to  the  rouge-pot.  She  rose  as  we 
entered,  and  treated  us  to  a  broad  stare  and  a 
swimming  courtesy.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  had 
seen  her  before,  but  I  could  not  tell  where. 

"  This  is  my  son  Edward,  Rebecca,  and  this  is 
his  bride.  —  What  am  I  to  call  you,  child  ?  " 

"Dorothy,  if  you  please,  father,"  I  answered, 
"  or  Dolly,  if  you  like  it  better." 

I  got  a  look  from  my  husband  which  rewarded 
me  for  all  the  pains  the  words  cost  me.  The  old 
gentleman  also  looked  well  pleased,  but  I  can't 
say  as  much  for  Mrs.  Studley.  I  felt  from  the 
first  moment  as  if  she  were  an  enemy,  as  if  I  were 
in  the  presence  of  some  fierce  and  treacherous 
animal. 

"  You  are  welcome,  Mrs.  Edward  Studley,"  she 
said  stiffly  enough ;  and  then,  turning  to  her  hus- 
band, "  I  suppose  the  young  lady  will  like  to  go 
to  her  room  before  supper,  which  will  be  ready 
directly." 

I  answered  that  I  should  be  glad  to  do  so. 
"The  blue  room,  Ned;  you  need  no  one  to 


286  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

show  you  the  way,"  said  his  father.  Accordingly 
my  husband  led  me  up  stairs,  and  along  a  gallery 
to  a  tolerably  comfortable  chamber,  not  in  the  best 
order,  where  a  decent-looking  old  body  was  some- 
what hurriedly  laying  clean  towels  and  the  like. 
She  dropped  whatever  she  had  in  her  hand  as  we 
came  in,  and  burst  out  crying,  saying  in  her  broad 
Devon  dialect,  "  O  Master  Ned,  Master  Ned,  what 
a  home-coming  is  here !  what  a  home-coming  is 
here  for.  you,  my  lamb  !  " 

"  Hush,  hush,  Janey ! "  said  my  husband,  shak- 
ing hands  with  her.  "Do  you  greet  my  bride 
with  tears  ?  That  is  not  a  good  omen.  —  Dolly,  this 
is  my  old  nurse  and  friend.  —  Come,  Janey,  shake 
hands,  and  wish  her  joy." 

"  And  so  I  do  with  all  my  heart,  the  dear,  tender 
little  lamb,  and  God  bless  her  into  the  bargain ! 
But  what  a  house  is  this  to  bring  a  young  lady 
into!" 

"  It  is  indeed  a  very  different  house  from  what 
I  expected,"  said  my  husband;  "  but  we  must 
make  the  best,  Janey." 

"Best!  there  is  no  best,  with  that  witch  and 
wizard  who  have  cast  their  spells  on  my  poor  old 
master  !  "  said  Janey.  And  then  in  a  lower,  awe- 
struck tone,  "  You  need  not  tell  me  they  are 
right  Christian  folk ;  no,  not  they  !  " 

"Hush,  Janey,  I  cannot  hear  you  speak  so  of 
my  father's  wife,"  said  Edward ;  "  that  is  not 
right.  Come,  help  your  young  mistress  to  take 
off  her  riding  gear,  and  get  ready  for  supper." 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  287 


"Ay,  that  will  I,"  said  the  old  woman.  She 
performed  her  office  deftly  enough,  with  abundance 
of  "poor  dears"  and  "tender  lambs,"  and  such 
like  phrases.  When  we  were  about  to  leave  the 
room,  she  laid  a  trembling,  withered  hand  on  my 
husband's  arm,  — 

"  Don't  let  her  get  a  hold  on  thee,  don't,  now, 
Master  Neddy,"  she  whispered.  "I  tell'e  she 
bain't  right.  There's  them  has  seen  mun  in  other 
forms  than  mun  wears  now,  and  in  strange  places. 
And  it  bain't  for  nought  that  the  white  owl  has 
whooped  and  screamed  every  night  since  she  came 
hither.  No,  no,  the  white  owl  doesn't  screech  like 
that  for  nought,  though  you  make  light  o'  mun, 
Master  Neddy.  But  oh,  have  a  care !  I  have 
put  a  branch  of  rowan  over  your  bed,  and  a  four- 
leaved  clover  under  every  threshold,  so  she  can 
work  no  harm  here.  But  oh,  have  a  care,  my 
lambs,  and  be  sure  to  taste  bread  and  salt  the  first 
thing ! " 

I  must  confess  I  was  silly  enough  to  observe 
this  precaution  against  witchcraft,  when  we  sat 
down  to  supper.  At  the  table  we  were  introduced 
to  Dr.  Kirton,  a  cunning,  plausible  sort  of  man, 
who  was  rather  obtrusively  civil  in  his  manners, 
and  to  whom  I  took  a  huge  dislike  on  the  instant. 

My  husband  had  brought  his  father  some  fine 
tobacco,  and  a  pretty  box  full  of  snuff.  The  old 
gentleman  received  them  with  satisfaction,  and 
seemed  inclined  to  be  more  friendly  than  at  first ; 
asking  Ned  about  one  old  acquaintance  and  an- 


288  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


other,  and  telling  him  about  the  cattle  and  horses, 
especially  a  fine  blood  mare  he  had  bought  for  my 
riding.  Then  turning  to  me,  he  asked  me  if  I 
were  a  good  horsewoman. 

"  Only  passable,  sir,"  I  answered.  "  I  never 
rode  at  all  till  last  winter;  but  my  uncle  has  taken 
great  pains  to  teach  me,  and,  if  you  will  do  the 
same,  I  hope  you  will  find  me  an  apt  scholar." 

"  Indeed,  sir,  Dolly  is  a  very  good  horsewoman, 
considering,"  said  Edward.  "  She  is  very  fear- 
less, and  that  is  half  the  battle,  you  know." 

"  So  it  is,  so  it  is,"  replied  the  old  gentleman. 
"But  how  happened  it  that  you  never  learned 
before  last  winter,  chick?" 

"  Because  I  never  had  a  chance,  sir,"  I  answered. 
"I  have  been  in  my  uncle's  family  not  quite  a 
year.  Before  that  I  lived  in  London.  We  only 
came  down  to  Devon  about  Christmas-tide." 

" In  London,  eh?  I  did  not  think  I  was  to  have 
a  fine  London  lady  for  a  daughter ;  but  you  don't 
look  like  a  Londoner!  eh,  Rebecca?"  addressing 
the  lady  at  the  head  of  the  table,  who  had  stiff- 
ened more  and  more,  the  more  her  husband  re- 
laxed. 

"  I  know  nothing  of  the  matter,"  she  answered 
tartly.  "I  never  was  in  London  in  my  life,  and 
never  wish  to  be."  * 

"If  I  have  not  seen  3rou  there  I  am  as  much 
mistaken  as  ever  I  was,"  I  said  to  myself.  The 
more  I  looked  at  her,  the  more  sure  I  was  that  I 
had  seen  her  before. 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  289 


"  Well,  well !  I  should  have  taken  you  for  Devon 
born,  and  North  Devon  at  that,"  said  my  father 
in-law.    "  Who  is  she  so  like,  Rowson  ?  " 

The  remark  was  addressed  to  the  viear  of  the 
parish,  —  a  heavy,  good-natured  looking  man,  who 
had  come  in  after  we  sat  down,  and  been  intro- 
duced as  Mr.  Rowson.  He  looked,  I  must  say, 
any  thing  but  a  reverend  priest,  and  yet  I  took  a 
certain  liking  to  him  from  the  first. 

"Mrs.  Edward  Studley  is  very  much  like  the 
Corbet  family,"  answered  the  vicar,  with  a  polite 
little  bow.  "  I  should  almost  say  she  belonged  to 
them." 

"  I  suppose  I  do,"  I  answered.  "  My  father's 
name  was  Corbet,  and  he  and  my  mother  were 
somewhat  akin.  After  my  mother's  death  I  lived 
in  the  family  of  Sir  Charles  Corbet,  my  father's 
cousin." 

"  Ay,  I  remember  now,"  said  Mr.  Studley. 
"But  Sir  Charles  died  some  years  ago,  did  he 
not?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  After  his  death  I  remained  with  his 
widow,  till  my  aunt  f6und  me  out  and  adopted 
me." 

"  Well,  well !  thou  art  a  pretty  bird,  but  of  the 
least." 

" '  Good  gear  goes  in  little  bulk,'  I  have  heard 
say,  sir,"  I  answered,  whereat  he  laughed  and 
seemed  pleased.  But  the  more  pleased  he  appeared, 
the  blacker  grew  my  lady's  brow.  She  was  evi- 
dently jealous  already.    When  supper  was  over$ 


290  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


my  husband  asked  to  be  excused,  saying  that  he 
had  a  headache. 

"  Ay,  I  know  of  old  there  is  no  good-fellowship 
to  be  had  of  thee,"  said  his  father  grumblingly ; 
and  then,  more  gently,  "But  thou  art  a  young 
bridegroom,  and  would  rather  toy  with  thy  pretty 
pussy  than  drink  the  best  wine  that  ever  flowed. 
Go  along,  then." 

He  actually  rose  to  open  the  door  for  me,  when 
his  lady  pushed  past  me  and  left  the  room  first. 
It  was  certainly  a  very  discourteous  action  for  a 
lady  in  her  own  house,  and  I  saw  my  husband's 
face  flush  at  it;  but  I  did  not  care.  I  did  not 
believe  I  should  long  have  to  live  with  her. 

We  stopped  a  moment  at  the  hall-door,  while 
Edward  pointed  out  to  me  some  object  in  the 
landscape  ;  and  when  we  reached  the  parlor  it  was 
empty.  There  was  a  pretty  harpsichon  in  the 
room,  which  Edward  opened  and  invited  me  to 
try. 

"It  was  my  mother's  instrument,  and  for  her 
sake  I  have  kept  it  in  tune,"  said  he.  "  She  was 
a  great  lover  of  music,  and  a  good  performer." 

"It  is  from  her  that  you  get  your  music,"  I 
remarked. 

"  It  is  from  her  that  I  get  any  good  which  is  in 
me,"  replied  my  husband,  with  a  sigh.  "  I  be- 
lieve I  first  liked  you  because  something  in  your 
looks  reminded  me  of  her.    And  to  see  that "  — 

"Patience,"  said  I,  as  he  checked  himself;  "pa- 
tience is  our  only  game  just  now,  Edward." 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


291 


•    "  You  are  right,"  he  answered.     "  Play  some- 
thing, and  soothe  my  spirits,  Dolly." 

Music  hath  charms  to  soothe  the  savage 
breast,' "  said  I,  as  I  sat  down ;  "and  you  are  not 
savage,  only  disturbed  and  distressed,  and  no 
wonder.  Now,  take  that  arm-chair,  and  listen 
and  compose  your  spirits." 

I  played  one  or  two  lessons,  and  then  began  to 
sing  Mr.  Shakspeare's  Song  of  the  Lark,  which 
was  always  a  great  favorite  of  mine.  When  I 
had  finished,  I  was  rewarded  by  a  clapping  of 
hands ;  and,  turning  round,  I  saw  my  father-in-law 
and  the  chaplain,  who  had  come  in  so  quietly  I 
had  not  known  of  their  presence. 

"Well  done,"  said  my  father-in-law.  "Why, 
*    you  are  a  lark  yourself.     We  don't  hear  singing 
like  that  every  day,  eh,  Rowson?" 

"I  have  not  heard  the  like  since* I  was  in  Italy," 
answered  the  chaplain.  "  Will  not  the  young 
lady  sing  something  else  ?  " 

I  obeyed,  and  sang  two  or  three  songs,  to  the 
last  of  which  Mr.  Rowson  volunteered  a  bass. 
He  had  a  fine  voice,  though  somewhat  the  worse 
for  wine,  and  a  cultivated  manner.  When  we 
had  finished,  he  said,  with  real  feeling  and  cour- 
tesy, — 

"This  is  a  pleasure  indeed.  I  did  not  expect 
such  a  feast." 

"  Ay,  Rowson  is  like  any  other  donkey,  he  likes 
his  ears  tickled,"  said  Mr.  Studley,  laughing. 
"  You  will  hear  good  singing  in  his  church,  if  not 


292  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or^ 


much  else.  But,  indeed,  you  have  given  us  all 
pleasure,  —  eh,  my  dear  ?  "  turning  to  his  wife,  who 
only  tossed  her  head,  and  said  something  about 
not  being  a  judge.  I  concluded  I  had  done 
enough,  and  rose  from  the  instrument.  I  sup- 
posed we  should  have  prayers,  as  the  chaplain  was 
present,  but  no  such  thing  took  place.  When  we 
had  retired  to  our  room,  I  found  I  had  dropped 
my  handkerchief,  and  ran  down  to  look  for  it.  I 
paused,  however,  at  the  parlor  door,  hearing  voices 
within ;  and  while  I  was  hesitating  I  caught  the 
words,  — 

"  Making  herself  at  home  —  a  London  fine  lady 
to  look  down  on  me,  and  insult  me  with  her  airs." 

"  Tut,  tut !  I  saw  no  airs,  nor  insults  either," 
said  my  father-in-law*   "  Don't  be  a  goose,  Becky." 

"  Becky !  "  I  exclaimed  aloud.  It  all  came  to 
me  in  a  minute. 

"  Eh,  what's  that?  "  said  my  father-in-law,  open- 
ing wide  the  door,  which  was  already  ajar. 
"What  do  you  want,  child,  and  who  are  you 
calling  Becky  f  " 

"Nobody,  sir,"  I  answered.  "I  heard  the 
name,  and  was  struck  with  it,  as  I  never  heard 
it  but  once  before." 

"And  where  was  that?"  asked  he,  rather 
sharply. 

"  In  London,  sir,"  I  answered ;  and  then,  to 
divert  him,  I  asked  if  he  had  seen  my  handker- 
chief. He  began  to  look  for  it,  while  my  lady 
stood  by,  regarding  us  with  no  friendly  glances. 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


293 


"  Here  it  is,"  said  I,  unearthing  it  from  a  pile 
of  music-books.  "Thank  you,  father,  and  good- 
night." 

"  The  riddle  is  read,"  said  I,  as  I  rejoined  my 
husband.    "  I  knew  I  had  seen  her  before." 

"  Where  ?  "  asked  Edwardc 

"  At  the  theatre  in  London,"  I  answered.  "  I 
have  seen  her  twenty  times.  It  is  Becky  Mar- 
shall the  actress,  —  the  one  poor  Mr.  Baxter  tried 
in  vain  to  rescue.  She  had  a  sister  younger  than 
herself,  both  well  brought  up,  but  I  never  heard 
of  any  brother.  But  if  she  is  not  Becky  Marshall 
I  will  eat  her." 

"  I  would  not  like  you  to  do  that,"  said  my  hus- 
band, who  is  always  taking  me  up  about  what  he 
calls  my  intemperate  ejaculationSo  "  She  might 
not  agree  with  you.    But  are  you  sure,  Dolly?" 

"  As  sure  as  I  am  of  you,"  I  answered.  "  I  have 
often  seen  her,  for  my  aunt  was  a  great  play-goer, 
and  always  took  one  of  us  with  her.  I  heard  this 
woman  had  left  the  stage." 

"  Well,  well ;  we  can  do  nothing  now,  that  I 
see,"  said  my  husband.  "  To  think,  Dolly,  that 
I,  of  all  people,  should  have  brought  you  into  such 
associations ! " 

"  You  could  not  help  it,  seeing  you  knew  noth- 
ing of  them,"  I  answered.  "  But  where  did  you; 
father  meet  these  people  ? ' 

"At  Bristol,  whither  he  went  to  drink  the 
waters  of  St.  Vincent's  well.  There  he  was  taken 
very  ill ;  and  Kirton  cured  him,  or  so  he  thought. 


294  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or. 

He  has  known  the  brother  for  a  year,  but  it  is 
only  a  few  weeks  since  he  met  the  sister.  I  saw 
Gifford  was  full  of  stories  about  her ;  but,  with  all 
his  good  qualities,  he  is  a  bit  of  a  scandal-monger, 
and  I  gave  him  no  encouragement.  But  come, 
©oily,  let  us  take  our  reading  and  prayers,  and 
go  to  rest.  To-morrow  is  a  new  day,  and  may 
bring  better  counsel.  I  shall  try  to  prevail  on  my 
father  to  go  back  to  the  first  plan,  and  let  us  have 
the  timbered  house.  If  not,  we  must  see  what 
else  we  can  do,  for  I  will  not  have  you  living  with 
this  woman." 

The  next  day  was  Saturday.  Janey  had  not 
failed  to  remark  on  the  fact  that  we  had  arrived 
on  a  Friday,  as  boding  ill  luck.  My  father-in-law 
was  evidently  in  a  worse  humor  than  the  night 
before ;  and  as  to  my  lady,  she  hardly  troubled  her- 
self to  be  civil.  We  did  not  meet  till  dinner-time, 
when  Mr.  Studley  grumbled  over  the  pie,  and 
scolded  because  the  beef  was  overroasted,  saying 
he  had  not  put  a  decent  morsel  into  his  mouth 
since  the  new  cook  had  come.  My  lady  promised 
to  see  to  the  cooking  herself,  and  seemed  trying  to 
conciliate  her  husband,  while  she  was  any  thing 
but  polite  to  Edward  or  me. 

"  And  you,  child,  I  suppose  you  don't  know  the 
neck  of  a  goose  from  the  rump,"  said  my  father- 
in-law,  turning  to  me. 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  his  wife.  "  Fine  London 
ladies  don't  study  cooking." 

"  But  I  am  not  a  fine  London  lady,  madam ;  and, 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary.  295 


as  it  happens,  I  am  a  bit  of  a  cook,"  said  I,  will- 
ing for  my  husband's  sake  to  conciliate  her.  "  My 
mother  and  my  aunt  both  thought  the  government 
of  a  household  a  very  important  part  of  a  young 
lady's  education." 

"  And  they  were  right,"  said  my  father-in-law, 
with  an  oath.  "What  matters  it  what  else  a 
woman  knows  if  she  can't  make  her  husband  com- 
fortable ?  " 

Nobody  made  any  answer  to  this  question,  and 
the  meal  went  on.  After  dinner,  Mr.  Studley 
announced  his  intention  of  riding  to  look  at  some 
outlying  land. 

"  I  will  ride  with  you  if  you  will  permit  me,  sir," 
said  Edward. 

"  What !  and  leave  your  bride  alone  a  whole 
afternoon.  You  are  not  weary  of  her  already,  are 
you?" 

"  Hardly,  sir,"  answered  Edward,  smiling  ;  "and 
I  do  not  mean  she  should  weary  of  me,  as  I  fear 
she  would  if  I  were  tied  to  her  apron-string." 

"  Humph  !  Well,  then,  if  you  are  suffering  for 
exercise,  I  wish  you  would  go  over  and  see  Master 
Atkins.  Tell  him  I  will  let  him  have  the  two 
heifers  at  his  own  price,  if  he  will  come  for  them. 
The  land  hath  more  stock  than  it  can  carry.  Tell 
Tom  to  put  the  side-saddle  on  the  black  mare,  and 
carry  your  wife  with  you." 

It  was  evidently  an  excuse  for  putting  off,  or 
getting  rid  of,  a  private  interview.  My  husband 
looked  disappointed,  but  made  the  best  of  the 
matter. 


296  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

"  Would  you  like  to  go,  Dolly  ?  "  he  asked.  "  It 
is  a  pleasant  ride ;  and  the  old  folk  are  friends  of 
mine,  and  will  be  glad  to  see  you." 

I  professed  my  willingness,  and  we  were  soon 
on  our  way.  The  day  was  lovely,  with  a  fresh 
breeze  blowing,  and  sending  the  white-caps  into 
the  little  bay,  and  the  larks  were  singing  over 
head.  I  should  have  enjoyed  the  ride  beyond 
any  thing,  only  that  my  husband  was  so  sad  and 
distraught. 

"Eh,  —  what?"  said  he,  after  I  had  spoken  to 
him  twice  without  getting  any  reply.  "  I  beg 
your  pardon,  Dolly.  I  am  very  bad  company,  I 
know ;  but  I  am  so  troubled  and  perplexed  I  know 
not  what  to  do,  nor  which  way  to  turn." 

"And  therefore  you  cannot  turn  any  way,"  I 
answered.  "You  must  just  wait  till  the  fog  lifts, 
and  shows  you  your  road." 

"And  meantime  the  boat  may  drift  on  the 
breakers,  or  the  traveller  be  mired  in  the  bog," 
said  he. 

"  Not  if  the  boat  be  anchored,  and  the  traveller 
sit  still,"  I  answered.  "  Where  is  your  faith, 
Edward  ?  Have  you  not  taught  me  that  God  is 
our  Father,  and  that  he  will  make  all  things  work 
together  for  good  to  them  that  love  him  ?  Can  we 
not  trust  ourselves  in  his  hands  ?  " 

"  You  are  right,  and  I  am  wrong,  my  dear," 
said  my  husband.    "  I  fear  I  am  very  faithless." 

"  No,  you  are  not  faithless  any  more  than  Abra- 
ham was,"  I  answered.    "  You  are  failing  in  your 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


297 


strong  point  just  as  he  did.  Don't  you  know  that 
fortresses  are  almost  always  taken  on  their  strong 
side?  Only  don't  make  Abraham's  mistake  by 
taking  matters  into  your  own  hands.  You  know 
the  trouble  he  prepared  for  himself  by  that  step, 
—  because  he  could  not  wait  for  God  to  bestow 
the  blessing  he  had  promised." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  thought  of  it  in  just 
that  way,  but  I  believe  you  are  right,"  said  Ed- 
ward. "  You  have  read  your  Old  Testament  to 
purpose,  Dolly." 

"  It  is  one  of  the  few  things  I  have  to  thank  my 
old  mistress  for,"  I  answered.  "  She  made  me 
read  it  from  end  to  end  every  year.  Is  this  the 
farm  where  we  are  to  stop?" 

"  Yes.  They  will  make  you  very  welcome, 
Dolly,  and  they  are  good  people  too." 

We  found  the  dame  busy  with  her  knitting  in 
the  sunny  porch  of  the  old  timbered  house,  and 
received  such  a  hearty  welcome  that  we  were 
almost  overwhelmed  with  it.  A  rosy-faced  old 
man  took  our  horses,  and  an  equally  rosy-faced  lad 
was  sent  to  find  Master  Atkins ;  while  the  dame 
conducted  us  into  her  clean,  wide  kitchen,  where 
a  little  wood-fire  still  smouldered  on  the  hearth. 
Here  we  must  eat  and  drink  the  first  minute,  of 
course ;  and  we  were  ensconced  in  two  arm-chairs, 
while  the  dame  and  her  pretty,  comely  daughter- 
in-law  bustled  about,  —  covering  one  end  of  the 
great  table  with  a  snowy,  homespun  cloth,  and 
bringing  out  clotted  cream  and  cheese-cakes  and 


298  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

spice-bread,  and  I  know  not  what  else.  Edward 
asked  after  her  son. 

uOh,  he  is  away  to  the  Levant!  He  must 
take  to  the  sea,  like  his  grandfather  and  father 
before  him,"  answered  the  dame,  smiling  and 
sighing  at  once.  "  He  has  got  the  salt  drop  in 
mun's  blood,  like  every  Lee  and  Atkins  as 
never  was  born,  I  think.  And  Will,  he's  away 
to  America,  and  has  taken  his  wife  with  him 
to  visit  her  kindred :  so  Patience  and  me,  we 
be  left  alone  as  it  were.  But  have  you  heard, 
Master  Ned,  that  my  husband's  cousin,  Ezechel 
Atkins,  at  Applecoombe,  wants  to  sell  out  and 
go  to  America?  " 

44 1  have  heard  no  news  at  all,  dame,  since  I 
came  home  only  yesterday.  But  why  does  Ezechel 
sell  ?  I  thought  he  had  one  of  the  nicest  places 
in  all  North  Devon." 

44  So  he  has,  so  he  has.  But  you  know  his 
brother  is  in  New  England  already,  and  'Zechel 
hath  a  great  family,  —  twelve  lads,  no  less,  and  four 
maidens;  and  'Zechel  thinks  there  will  be  more 
room  for  his  lads  over  there." 

"  And  he  is  right,  Master  Ned,"  said  the  master 
of  the  house,  entering  in  time  to  hear  his  wife's 
last  words.  64  Welcome  home,  sir,  and  much  joy 
befall  you  and  your  bride." 

Master  Atkins  was  a  tall,  spare  man,  with  black 
curly  hair  a  good  deal  grizzled,  and  splendid 
white  teeth.  He  was  very  polite  and  even  pol- 
ished in  his  way.    I  learned  afterward  that  he 


Mrs.  Studley^s  Diary. 


299 


had  been  an  officer  in  the  navy,  but  had  retired 
and  taken  to  farming. 

"  And  so  you  think  your  cousin  'Zechel  is  mak- 
ing a  wise  move,"  said  my  husband,  as  we  sat 
down  to  the  table. 

"  I  do,  sir ;  though  if  it  were  my  case  I  should 
go  not  to  New  England,  but  to  New  Jersey,  where 
land  is  quite  as  good  and  the  climate  not  so  severe. 
But  'Zechel's  brother  is  settled  in  New  England, 
and  doing  well,  and  doubtless  that  is  a  strong 
reason  for  their  choice." 

"  I  have  a  friend  in  New  Jersey.  Is  that  very 
far  from  Where  your  cousin  is  going?"  said  I.  "I 
would  like  to  send  her  a  little  parcel." 

Master  Lee  smiled.  "  There  is  almost,  if  not 
quite,  the  length  of  England  between  the  two 
places,"  said  he.  "  Folk  hereabout  do  not  under- 
stand the  size  of  things  over  there.  But  I  make 
no  doubt  my  cousin  will  take  your  parcel,  madam. 
He  may  easily  find  a  chance  to  send  it,  for  there  is 
a  great  deal  of  trade  going  on." 

uBut  what  will  'Zechel  Atkins  do  with  his 
farm  ? "  asked  my  husband.  "  His  lease  must 
have  a  long  time  to  run  yet." 

"  Sixty  years,"  answered  our  host.  "  'Zechel 
would  gladly  sell  stock  and  fixtures,  and  the  most 
of  his  furniture,  if  he  could  get  his  price." 

"  And  that  is  "  — 

"  Two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  but  I  doubt  not 
he  would  take  two  hundred  if  he  had  the  money 
in  hand.  The  farm  is  well  stocked,  and  hath  the 
finest  orchard  in  the  country." 


300  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

The  talk  then  drifted  away  to  other  matters.  I 
observed  the  beauty  of  the  china  bowl  which  held 
the  clotted  cream,  and  of  some  other  pieces  ;  and 
the  dame  must  needs  show  me  her  china  closet, 
which  would  have  made  many  a  fine  lady  wild 
with  envy.  I  particularly  admired  a  little  black 
and  gold  coffee-pot,  and  nothing  would  do  but 
she  must  bestow  it  on  me  for  a  wedding  gift,  as  she 
said,  as  well  as  a  lace  kerchief  which  she  told  me 
she  had  made  herself  when  a  maid  at  school. 
Then  we  must  go  out  and  see  the  garden,  the 
poultry  yard,  and  the  noble  orchard:  so  it  was  on 
toward  sunset  before  we  got  away. 

We  found  supper  ready  when  we  arrived  at 
the  Hall.  My  father-in-law  was  evidently  in  a 
worse  humor  than  in  the  morning,  and  received 
Edward's  report  of  his  errand  with  only  a 
"  humph."  The  parson  was  at  the  table,  as 
usual,  but  there  was  no  pretence  of  grace  said. 
Madam  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  dressed  out 
in  all  her  finery ;  and,  as  we  took  our  places,  she 
shot  a  glance  at  us  wherein  I  read  triumphant 
malice.  She  had  evidently  been  using  her  time 
well. 

Mr.  Studley  drank  plenty  of  strong  ale  with  his 
supper,  and  called  for  wine  afterward.  My  hus- 
band took  one  or  two  glasses,  and  then  declined 
more.  His  father  called  him  a  white-livered  milk- 
sop, and  turned  to  the  parson,  — 

"  You  are  a  man,  at  any  rate,  Rowson.  You  are 
not  afraid  of  your  brains,  like  my  sanctimonious 


Mrs.  Studley^s  Diary.  301 


son.  We  will  finish  the  bottle  and  another  before 
we  part." 

"  Not  to-night,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Rowson.  "  To- 
morrow is  Sacrament  Sunday,  and  I  must  not  drink 
deep  to-night,  lest  I  get  the  bishop  down  on  me 
again." 

My  father-in-law  cursed  the  Sacrament,  using 
terms  which  made  my  blood  run  cold.  In  all  my 
life  I  had  never  heard  such  blasphemy.  Involun- 
tarily I  laid  my  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Dear  sir,  don't  speak  so,"  said  I.  "Think  of 
what  you  are  speaking,  —  of  the  Holy  Communion." 

He  shook  off  my  hand,  and  stared  at  me  with  a 
look  of  fury. 

"  What,  you,  you  !  "  he  stammered.  "  Has  he 
made  a  sanctified  humbug  of  you  already  ?  " 

"I  told  you  you  would  have  enough  of  my 
lady's  airs,"  remarked  his  wife  with  a  sneer. 
"  Fine  doings,  indeed !  a  young  woman  rebuking 
her  father-in-law  at  his  own  table." 

"And  you,  sir,  you  have  put  this  chit  up  to 
beard  me,  have  you?  "  roared  Mr.  Studley,  turning 
to  his  son. 

"  Do  not  be  so  angry,  Mr.  Studley,"  interposed 
Dr.  Kirton,  in  his  smooth,  oily  tones.  He  had  a 
habit  of  putting  his  head  on  one  side  when  he 
spoke,  which  would  have  set  me  against  him  if 
nothing  else  did.  "  I  am  sure  Mr.  Edward  will 
make  his  wife  beg  your  pardon." 

"  I  pray  you,  Dr.  Kirton,  not  to  interfere  between 
my  father  and  myself,"  said  my  husband,  speaking 


302  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or. 


quite  calmly,  though  I  saw  by  his  paleness  how 
much  he  was  moved.  "  I  see  nothing  in  my 
wife's  words  for  which  she  need  to  ask  pardon." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Mrs.  Studley  tauntingly. 
"  She  has  a  right  to  insult  your  father  at  his  own 
table,  and  to  call  his  wife  an  actress  and  I  know 
not  what  else.  —  Oh,  yes,  you  may  stare,  madam, 
but  I  can  tell  you  stone  walls  have  ears.  A  pretty 
way,  to  be  sure !  " 

With  that  Mr.  Studley  exploded  in  a  new  fury. 
In  all  my  life  I  never  saw  any  thing  like  it.  There 
was  no  opprobrious  epithet  which  he  did  not  heap 
upon  his  son,  and  I  think  no  demon  from  the  lower 
regions  could  have  beat  him  in  the  blasphemous 
language  with  which  he  assailed  religion  in  all  its 
forms.  I  looked  at  the  parson,  expecting  him  to 
show  some  displeasure ;  but  though  he  looked 
annoyed,  as  a  man  might  at  an  interruption  to  his 
pleasure,  he  never  moved.  Dr.  Kirton  put  in  a 
word  now  and  then,  artfully  calculated  to  increase 
his  patron's  anger ;  while  his  sister  made  no  attempt 
to  conceal  her  satisfaction.  As  for  Edward,  he 
never  said  one  word,  till  his  father  applied  to  me 
an  epithet  too  vile  to  be  recorded  here.  Then  he 
rose  from  the  table  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  Come,  Dolly,  this  is  no  place  for  you,"  was  all 
he  said.  I  rose  and  put  my  hand  through  his 
arm. 

"  Ay,  go,  and  never  let  me  see  thy  craven  face 
again  !"  roared  the  old  man.  "  Begone  from  my 
house !    I  have  tried  in  vain  to  make  a  man  of 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  303 


thee.  Begone,  and  beg  or  starve,  as  pleases  thee 
best,  and  take  thy  father's  curse  with  thee." 

"  Curses  are  like  young  chickens :  they  always 
come  home  to  roost,"  said  Edward  solemnly. 
"  Heaven  grant  that  it  may  not  be  so  with  yours, 
sir  !  —  Come,  my  wife." 

My  lady  gave  an  insolent  laugh  as  we  left  the 
dining-room.  It  soon  appeared  that  the  old  man 
was  in  earnest.  We  had  been  in  our  room  but  a 
few  minutes  when  Mr.  Rowson  came  to  the  door. 

"  You  had  best  be  gone,  Ned,"  said  he.  "  The 
old  man  grows  worse  and  worse,  and  vows  you 
shall  not  stay  in  the  house  to-night ;  and  that  witch 
pushes  him  on.  I  have  ordered  your  horses  to  the 
door,  and  Andrew  will  attend  you." 

"But  where  to  go?"  said  my  husband.  "We 
cannot  spend  the  night  on  the  moor.  Cannot  you 
take  us  in?" 

The  parson  looked  perplexed.  "  I  would,"  said 
he,  "but  my  house  is  no  place  for  a  lady;  and 
beside —  Well,  the  truth  is,  Ned,  I  owe  your 
father  money,  and  I  can't  afford  to  displease  him." 

"We  will  not  trouble  you,"  said  my  husband. 
"  The  man  who  will  not  stand  up  for  his  Lord  and 
Master  will  hardly  do  much  for  his  friend." 

"  Nay,  but  do  hear  reason,"  said  the  poor  parson, 
in  a  strait  between  his  kindness  and  his  cowardice. 
"  Let  us  think  a  moment." 

"Why  should  we  not  go  to  Master  Atkins, 
where  we  were  this  afternoon  ?  "  said  I.  "  Surely 
those  good  people  will  take  us  in  over  Sunday." 


304  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or. 


"A  good  thought,"  said  my  husband,  "if  the 
ride  will  not  be  too  much  for  you." 

"Nay,  'tis  only  six  miles,"  said  the  parson. 
"  She  deserves  some  trouble  for  blowing  up  all 
this  storm.  Why  could  she  not  hold  her  tongue  ? 
But  women  must  always  be  meddling." 

"I  will  hear  not  one  word  against  my  wife," 
returned  my  husband  sternly.  "She  did  but  what 
any  Christian  should,  —  what  you  yourself  should 
have  done,  and  not  have  left  your  Master's  de- 
fence to  a  girl." 

"  What  use  in  talking  to  an  angry  man  ?  "  said 
the  parson,  coloring;  "but  I  bear  no  malice. 
Here  comes  Andrew  for  your  mails.  Go  down 
the  back  way,  and  I  will  try  to  keep  the  old  man 
engaged."    So  saying,  he  disappeared. 

"And  that  man,"  began  my  husband;  but  I 
begged  him  to  be  quiet  and  let  us  get  away.  In 
truth,  I  was  terribly  scared,  and  wanted  nothing 
so  much  as  to  be  out  of  the  house.  We  were  not 
to  escape  scot  free,  however.  The  poor  old  man 
followed  us  to  the  door,  and  dismissed  us  with  a 
volley  of  execrations,1  swearing  by  all  that  was 
holy  we  should  never  see  a  penny  of  his  money. 

"  I  value  not  your  oath,  sir,  since  you  swear  by 
what  you  yourself  do  not  believe  in,"  said  Edward, 
turning  as  we  were  about  leaving  the  courtyard. 
"  It  grieves  me  to  part  from  you  in  anger.    I  have 

1  This  is  no  fiction.  Mr.  Studley  is  a  real  historical  person- 
age, and  was  turned  out  of  his  father's  house  in  just  the  same 
way,  for  the  same  cause. 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary. 


305 


borne  much  from  you  in  times  past.  I  entreat 
you  to  remember,  that,  deny  God's  word  as  you 
may,  it  is  not  the  less  true ;  and  that,  so  surely  as 
you  live,  you  must  one  day  stand  before  him,  to 
give  account  of  deeds  done  in  the  body.  I  call 
you  yourself  to  witness  that  I  have  been  to  you  a 
submissive  and  dutiful  son;  and  I  am  willing  to  be 
so  again,  so  soon  as  you  shall  see  fit  to  recall 
me.  —  Come,  Dolly." 

As  we  rode  out  of  the  courtyard,  we  heard  the 
old  man's  wrath  exploding  in  execrations;  and  1 
caught  sight  of  the  woman  laying  her  hand  on  his 
arm,  as  though  scared  at  the  storm  she  had  her- 
self provoked.  I  never  saw  her  in  life  again,  but 
once. 

"  We  must  ride  fast,  my  love,"  said  my  hus- 
band.   "  It  is  growing  late." 

This  was  all  he  said  during  our  ride,  except 
a  word  of  warning  or  encouragement  now  and 
then.  Fortunately,  it  was  a  fine  evening,  and  a 
half-moon  gave  us  plenty  of  light.  How  glad  I 
was  that  we  had  taken  no  luggage  with  us  but 
our  pillion  mails,  and  one  small  mail  that  Andrew 
could  carry  easily  behind  him ! 

It  was  near  ten  o'clock  when  we  reached  the 
farm ;  but  there  was  a  light  in  the  kitchen,  and 
Master  Atkins  was  standing  in  the  porch,  smok- 
ing his  pipe.  He  uttered  an  exclamation  of  won- 
der on  seeing  us  again,  as  well  he  might,  and 
hastened  to  take  me  down  from  my  horse. 

"  Will  you  take  us  in  for  the  night,  my  friend?" 


306  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

asked  my  husband.  "  I  have  literally  no  shelter 
for  my  head  or  that  of  my  poor  young  wife." 

"  Take  you  in !  Ay,  that  I  will,  and  more 
than  welcome," answered  Master  Atkins.  "What, 
the  old  gentleman  is  in  his  tantrums  again !  " 
Then,  as  Edward  nodded,  "  Come  in,  come  in.  — 
Come,  madam.  —  Janey,  here  is  Master  Edward 
and  his  lady  come  to  stay  all  night  with  us." 

I  cannot  think  without  grateful  tears,  even 
now,  of  the  warmth  and  delicacy  with  which 
these  excellent  people  welcomed  us.  The  fire  was 
blown  up,  and  a  couple  of  rosy  maids  sent  in  half 
a  dozen  different  ways;  while  the  dame  herself 
would  wait  on  me,  take  off  my  riding-gear,  and 
smooth  my  hair.  I  was  worn  out  with  fatigue  and 
excitement,  and  the  dame's  motherly  care  was  too 
much  for  my  self-control :  I  burst  into  a  flood  of 
tears,  and  sobbed  so  convulsively  that  my  husband 
was  alarmed. 

"  There,  don't'e  mind,  don't'e  mind,"  said  the 
dame  soothingly.  "  She  will  be  all  the  better, 
poor  lamb.  —  Bring  some  wine,  Patience. — There, 
drink  this,  my  pretty.  Hush,  hush,  nothing  shall 
harm  thee.    There,  see,  thou  art  better  already." 

"I  am  very  silly,"  said  I,  making  a  great  effort 
to  control  myself ;  "  but  I  am  not  used  to  riding 
so  far,  and  I  am  so  tired." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  poor  tender  soul!  Bed  is  the  best 
place  for  thee,  and  it  is  all  ready.  Come  now,  let 
me  undress  thee,  and  don't  grieve  too  much.  All 
will  be  well." 


Mrs.  Studley^s  Diary. 


307 


With  the  greatest  kindness  she  helped  me  to 
undress,  and  as  soon  as  I  was  in  bed  brought  me  a 
warm  drink  to  keep  me  from  taking  cold.  All 
this  time  neither  she  nor  her  husband  had  asked  a 
single  question.  As  she  bade  me  good-night,  I 
held  her  hand  for  a  moment. 

"  You  must  not  think,  dame,  that  my  husband 
has  done  any  thing  wrong." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  she  answered.  "  Bless 
you,  my  dear,  every  one  knows  the  old  squire ! 
Master  Edward  has  been  the  wonder  of  the 
country  for  his  patience  and  dutifulness  to  the 
old  man.  There,  sleep,  my  tender,  and  all  will 
be  well." 

The  next  morning  I  was  waked  early  by  the 
singing  of  the  birds,  the  crowing  of  the  cocks,  and 
other  farmyard  noises.  I  could  hear  sounds  of 
movement  below,  but  all  quiet  and  subdued.  I 
was  bewildered  at  first,  and  could  hardly  tell 
where  I  was.  The  room  was  far  more  comfortable, 
I  must  say,  than  that  we  had  occupied  at  Studley 
Hall.  The  bed-linen  was  snowy  white,  and  smelled 
of  lavender.  The  curtains  and  counterpane  were 
of  India  chintz,  and  a  fine  Turkish  rug  lay  before 
the  bed,  —  odd  things,  I  thought,  to  find  in  a 
farmhouse  in  North  Devon.  But  I  remembered 
that  the  master  of  the  house  had  been  a  seafaring 
man,  which  probably  accounted  for  all  these  lux- 
uries. While  I  was  studying  the  patterns  on  the 
hangings,  I  fell  asleep,  and  did  not  wake  till  my 
husband  called  me. 


308  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

"Are  you  rested,  Dolly?  Do  you  feel  like 
going  to  church  ?    It  is  not  a  long  walk." 

"I  should  like  to  go,  of  all  things,"  I  answered; 
"  but,  Edward,  how  can  you  endure  to  see  that  man 
in  the  desk,  and  breaking  the  consecrated  bread  ?  " 

"  What,  Rowson  ?  Oh,  we  are  not  in  his  par- 
ish !  "  answered  Edward ;  "  and  if  we  were,  you 
know,  love,  the  unworthiness  of  the  priest  hinder- 
eth  not  the  efficacy  of  the  sacraments.  But  this 
is  quite  a  different  person,  as  you  will  see.  I  think 
we  shall  both  be  better  for  the  worship,  and  we 
will  try  to  put  aside  all  our  cares  till  to-morrow. 
'This  is  the  day  the  Lord  hath  made;  we  will 
rejoice  and  be  glad  in  it.' " 

We  broke  our  fast,  and  then  walked  with  our 
host  and  his  family  to  the  little  church,  the  tower 
of  which  I  had  seen  from  my  window.  It  was 
very  small  and  very  old,  built  of  the  moor-stone, 
and  almost  shrouded  in  great  leaved  ivy;  but 
there  was  a  beautiful  carved  oak  chancel  screen, 
almost  black  with  age,  and  I  saw  with  pleasure 
how  fair  and  white  were  the  altar-linen  and  the 
surplice.  The  vicar  was  an  old  man,  of  almost 
rustical  plainness  of  speech  and  manner  ;  but  he 
gave  us  an  excellent,  practical  discourse,  suitable 
to  the  day,  and  administered  the  communion  with 
great  reverence  and  decency.  I  was  rather  sur- 
prised to  see  how  many  communicants  there  were 
in  proportion  to  the  size  of  the  parish,  and  re- 
marked upon  the  matter  to  Master  Atkins  as  we 
were  walking  homeward. 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


309 


"  Yes,  our  parson  has  done  a  great  deal  for  the 
parish,"  he  answered.  "  'Twas  but  a  godless  place 
when  he  came  here,  for  the  last  incumbent  was 
much  such  another  as  him  over  yonder  at  Studley, 
only  worse.  But  we  got  rid  of  him  at  last.  Mr. 
Dean  is  a  Devon  man  born  and  bred,  and  knows 
how  to  deal  with  the  people.  The  worst  man  in 
the  parish  will  pull  off  his  hat  to  him,  and  I  have 
known  him  to  go  single-handed  and  unarmed  into 
a  den  of  deer-stealers  and  broken  men,  break  up 
their  assembly,  and  persuade  them  from  some  law- 
less deed,  by  the  sheer  force  of  his  presence  and 
speech.  I  would  the  old  squire  had  him  to  deal 
with.  He  would  find  it  a  different  matter,  I 
trow." 

"  I  hope  so,"  I  answered.  "  I  was  disgusted  to 
see  Mr.  Rowson  sit  by  and  say  not  a  word,  while 
every  thing  that  he  ought  to  have  held  sacred  was 
blasphemed  and  profaned." 

"  Ay,  that  is  Mr.  Rowson  all  over.  But  he  hath 
been  a  free  liver,  and  I  fancy  the  old  squire  hath 
some  hold  over  him.  c  The  borrower  is  servant  to 
the  lender,'  you  know,  madam." 

"  Well,  I  do  wonder  how  my  husband  ever  lived 
with  his  father  so  long,"  I  said,  rather  incautious- 
ly, perhaps. 

"  And  so  do  many  more,  madam ;  but  in  spite  of 
his  pretending  to  despise  his  son,  the  old  gentle- 
man has  always  greatly  depended  on  Master  Ned 
in  business  matters.  Only  for  that  I  believe  your 
husband  would  have  made  himself  independent 


310  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


long  ago.  I  fear  the  poor  old  man  hath  got 
into  bad  hands  enough,  and  that  Master  Ned  will 
suffer  by  it." 

We  went  to  evening  service,  and  heard  the 
school-children  catechized ;  and  I  was  much  pleased 
by  the  way  in  which  Mr.  Dean  explained  the  Com- 
mandments, not  descending  to  any  trivialities,  but 
making  his  matter  so  plain  that  the  youngest  child 
could  carry  away  something  thereof.  Master  At- 
kins told  us  the  rector  took  great  interest  in  the 
school,  which  had  an  excellent  woman  for  a  dame, 
and  that  even  the  Dissenters  in  the  parish  sent 
their  children  to  her.  I  thought  within  myself 
that  I  would  make  a  little  treat  for  the  children, 
and  then  remembered,  with  a  pang,  that  I  was  not 
likely  to  have  money  for  any  such  purpose.  How- 
ever, I  reflected  that  I  had  among  my  things  a 
great  roll  of  silk  pieces  which  I  had  collected  for 
my  patchwork,  and  I  could  at  least  make  some 
work-bags  and  needle-books  for  the  little  maidens. 
I  suppose  it  was  childish  in  me,  but  somehow  this 
little  plan  for  giving  pleasure  to  others  seemed  to 
lighten  up  my  spirits  amazingly. 

The  next  morning,  my  husband  called  me  into 
our  bedroom  from  the  dairy,  where  I  was  diligently 
learning  the  true  Devon  way  of  making  a  junket. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  interrupt  the  process  of  your 
education,  Dolly,  but  we  must  needs  consider  our 
ways  and  means.    What  are  we  to  do  to  live  ?  " 

"I  suppose  there  is  no  use  in  expecting  any 
thing  from  your  father,"  said  L 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  311 


"  No  use  at  all,  while  he  is  in  such  hands.  I 
have  never  been  a  favorite  with  him,  but  I  did 
think  he  would  have  kept  his  promise  when  he 
agreed  to  give  me  a  house  and  an  income  of  mine 
own.  I  never  would  have  brought  you  hither 
else." 

"  Then  I  am  glad  you  were  mistaken,"  I  an- 
swered ;  "  for  I  would  not  be  anywhere  else  for 
the  world." 

"  Truly  ? "  asked  my  husband,  with  a  bright 
look. 

"  Truly,"  I  answered.  "  I  can  frankly  say,  Ned, 
that  I  would  rather  live  in  a  cob  hut  with  you, 
than  in  a  palace  with  any  one  else." 

Here  occurred  an  interruption  to  the  discourse 
which  I  need  not  set  down.  But  how  glad  I  was 
that  I  could  in  all  honesty  say  as  much  ! 

"  But  we  must  think  what  we  are  going  to  do," 
continued  my  husband.  "  If  we  had  only  any 
capital  to  start  with,  I  would  take  'Zechel  Atkins's 
farm  off  his  hands.  I  have  no  fear  but  I  could 
manage  it,  and  make  eventually  a  good  thing  of 
it ;  though  it  would  mean  hard  fare  for  a  few  years, 
and  harder  work  than  these  tender  little  hands  are 
used  to." 

"  Never  mind  the  tender  little  hands,"  said  I. 
"  They  have  more  strength  than  you  think  for,  and 
what  I  don't  know  I  can  learn." 

"But  Master  'Zechel  wants  his  money  down, 
that  he  may  have  something  more  to  start  on," 
continued  my  husband;  "and  beside  that,  I  would 


312  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


not  at  any  rate  like  to  begin  with  a .  millstone  of 
debt  round  my  neck ;  nor  can  I  well  apply  to  your 
uncle.  He  hath  done  a  good  deal  for  us ;  and 
beside  that,  I  know  that  he  has  lost  enough  of  late 
seriously  to  embarrass  him.  Have  you  any  money, 
Dolly  ?  " 

"  I  have  ten  pounds,"  said  I. 

uAnd  I  have  twenty.  So  we  have  at  least 
thirty  pounds  between  us  and  starvation." 

At  this  moment  a  thought  struck  me  which 
made  me  jump  up  in  a  hurry.  My  husband  looked 
on  with  surprise  as  I  brought  out  my  trinket-box 
from  my  mail,  and  began  turning  over  its  con- 
tents. At  last  I  found  what  I  wanted.  It  was 
the  little  golden  egg  which  my  poor  cousin,  Sir 
Charles,  had  given  me  on  his  death-bed. 

"What  is  it?"  said  Ned,  as  I  put  it  into  his 
hands.    I  told  him  its  history. 

"  And  you  have  never  opened  it,"  said  he,  turn- 
ing it  over.  "  Who  shall  say  that  women  have  no 
curiosity  ?  " 

"  Nobody  need  say  so  about  me,  because  I  have 
a  great  deal,"  said  I ;  "so  much,  that  I  want  you 
to  open  ray  egg  directly,  that  I  may  see  what  is  in 
it.  I  don't  think  it  will  be  any  infraction  of  my 
promise  to  open  it  now,  for  surely  we  are  in  a  strait, 
if  people  ever  were.  Only,  don't  break  the  locket 
if  you  can  help.  Who  knows  but  it  may  be  like 
the  golden  egg,  which  the  fairy  gave  to  the  wander- 
ing princess  in  the  story,  and  contain  a  talisman 
which  shall  help  us  out  of  all  our  troubles  ?  " 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  313 


w  There  is  no  need  of  breaking  the  locket,"  said 
iw  husband,  examining  it  with  attention.  "  I  see 
how  it  opens."  He  pressed  the  spring  as  he 
spoke.  The  egg  parted  in  the  middle,  and  out 
dropped  two  little  parcels,  carefully  wrapped  in 
silver  paper,  and  a  small,  folded  note. 

"  What  have  we  here  ?  "  said  my  husband. 

We  each  opened  one  of  the  little  parcels,  and 
were  fairly  dazzled  by  the  splendor  of  the  jewels 
they  contained. 

"  Lady  Jem's  diamond  ear-rings  !  "  I  exclaimed, 
"  the  very  same  that  are  in  her  portrait  by  Lely. 
My  mistress  always  wondered  what  had  become  of 
them,  I  little  thought  I  had  them  in  my  posses- 
sion all  the  time." 

"  But  what  is  this  ?  "  said  my  husband,  opening 
the  folded  paper.  It  was  a  note  in  Sir  Charles's 
handwriting,  saying  that  he  gave  the  enclosed 
jewels,  which  were  his  own  private  property,  to 
his  dear  cousin,  Mrs.  Dorothy  Corbet,  to  be  kept 
by  her  till  after  her  marriage,  and  then  either 
worn  or  used  by  her  in  any  way  she  should  think 
proper.  The  note  was  signed  by  Sir  Charles,  and 
attested  by  the  names  of  Dr.  Clarke  his  physician, 
and  Richards  his  confidential  servant. 

"  That  was  very  thoughtful  of  your  cousin,"  said 
Ned.    "  Do  you  know  these  witnesses  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  Dr.  Clarke  is  court  physician,  and 
always  attended  my  mistress ;  and  after  his  mas- 
ter's death,  Richards  married,  and  has  a  shop  for 
gloves  and  perfumes  in  Westminster  Hall.    I  car- 


314  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or^ 


ried  my  aunt  thither,  and  she  bought  a  great  deal 
of  him.  But  how  much,  think  you,  the  jewels  are 
worth,  Ned?" 

"  More  than  fifty  pounds  apiece,  if  I  am  any 
judge  of  such  matters,"  answered  my  husband. 
"  My  good  friend,  Master  Gifford  of  Biddeford, 
will,  however,  have  a  juster  notion  of  them,  having 
handled  many  such  matters  in  his  day.  We  will 
go  thither  to-morrow,  and  stop  on  our  way  home, 
that  you  may  see  Applecoombe  for  yourself ; 
that  is,  if  you  are  minded  to  sacrifice  your  splendid 
ear-rings." 

"  It  will  be  no  great  sacrifice,"  I  answered.  "I 
never  had  any  fondness  for  trinkets ;  and  I  am 
sure  these  will  do  me  more  good  put  into  a  home, 
than  dangling  from  my  ears,  specially  out  here 
in  North  Devon.  Only  I  will  keep  the  locket,  if 
you  please,  in  memory  of  my  kind  cousin." 

"But,  Dolly,  have  you  thought  what  all  this 
means  for  you  ?  "  asked  my  husband.  "  Do  you 
understand  that  it  means  hard  work  and  plain 
fare  and  the  rank  of  a  farmer's  dame?  What 
would  your  aunt  say  ?  " 

"  I  shall  not  ask  her,"  said  I.  "  What  is  the 
use  of  being  a  married  woman,  if  I  can't  have 
mine  own  way  ?" 

"  You  shall  have  your  way  and  mine  too,  if  you 
like,"  said  Edward.  "  Then  it  is  settled  that  we 
are  to  carry  these  jewels  to  market,  and  exchange 
them  for  kine  and  sheep  and  such  vulgar  matters." 

"  Even  so,"  I  answered. 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  315 


"^Then  we  will  ride  to  Biddeford  to-morrow,  if 
you  are  well  rested.  But  take  care  of  the  note, 
Dolly.    It  may  save  trouble  some  day." 

Our  conference  was  interrupted  by  a  call  to 
dinner;  for  these  good  folk  kept  to  their  primi- 
tive hours,  and  dined  before  eleven  of  the  clock. 
The  good  dame  treated  us  to  all  sorts  of  country 
dainties,  for  she  was  and  is  a  famous  cook.  I  saw 
with  pleasure  the  devout  way  in  which  Master 
Atkins  said  grace,  not  mumbling  it  over  like  a 
charm  against  rats,  as  my  poor  uncle  used  to  do. 
The  meal  was  a  very  pleasant  one.  Master  Atkins, 
being  skilfully  led  on  by  my  husband,  told  us  some 
very  nice  tales  of  his  travels  and  adventures,  and 
of  the  strange  superstitions  of  sailors,  particularly 
of  the  ghostly  bark  called  the  "  Flying  Dutch- 
man," which  never  appears  but  in  a  storm,  and  is 
doomed,  for  the  wickedness  of  its  captain  and  crew, 
to  wander  forever,  without  ever  making  a  port. 

"You  speak  rather  as  if  you  believed  in  this 
unlucky  4  Dutchman,'  "  said  my  husband. 

"I  would  not  say  absolutely  that  I  do  not,"  an- 
swered Master  Atkins  seriously. 1  "  We  old  sailors 
see  many  strange  things.  I  could  tell  you  of  a 
great  creature  with  a  body  like  a  snow  wreath, 
fully  two  fathoms  in  length ;  and  with  a  dozen 
snaky  arms,  each  big  enough  to  pull  down  a  big 
fishing  boat,  twisting  and  writhing  like  serpents  ; 


1  One  of  the  most  intelligent  sailors  I  ever  met,  a  Christian 
man  and  fairly  educated,  fully  believed  in  the  1 1  Flying  Dutch- 
man." 


316  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or. 


and  great  staring  eyes,  —  a  horrible  sight  it  was, 
I  can  tell  you.  I  never  wish  to  see  it  again,  I  am 
sure  of  that."  1 

"Hush,  Willy,"  said  his  wife  reprovingly.  "You 
should  not  tell  the  young  lady  of  such  frightful 
creatures." 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  easily  scared  !  "  I  said ;  but  the 
dame  shook  her  head  at  her  husband  so  meaningly, 
that  he  began  to  talk  of  pleasanter  things,  of  the 
beautiful  birds  of  South  America,  and  the  great 
fireflies,  infinitely  brighter  than  our  glow-worms, 
and  by  which  one  can  see  to  read  even. 

"  When  I  hear  Will  Atkins's  stories,  it  revives  my 
old  longing  for  the  sea,"  said  my  husband.  "  If 
worst  comes  to  worst,  Dolly,  I  can  leave  you  with 
our  good  friends  here,  and  ship  on  a  Bristol 
trader." 

"And  then  I  will  don  men's  attire,  and  follow 
you,  like  the  lady  in  the  ballad,"  said  I.  "  But  with 
such  tastes,  and  such  a  home,  I  wonder  you  never 
ran  away  to  sea  as  a  boy." 

"  I  could  not  leave  my  mother  while  she  lived," 
answered  Edward.  "  I  was  her  only  comfort,  and 
I  promised  her  I  would  stay  by  my  father  as  long 
as  it  was  possible.  Otherwise,  I  would  have  sailed 
with  my  poor  uncle,  and  perhaps  have  shared  his 
fate." 

"  Why,  what  happened  to  him  ?"    I  asked. 


1  The  great  white  squid,  seen  once  in  a  generation  by  the 
whalers,  but  never  yet  described  by  naturalists.  It  is  considered 
as  of  evil  omen. 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary. 


317 


"  His  vessel  was  taken  by  Barbary  corsairs,  and 
the  whole  crew  killed,  or  driven  into  slavery. 
One  object  of  my  journey  to  the  East  was  to  try  to 
hear  some  news  of  my  uncle ;  but  I  believe,  from 
all  I  can  learn,  that  he  was  killed  in  defence  of  his 
vessel.  Better  so  than  a  lifetime  of  Turkish 
slavery." 

"  Maybe  he  will  turn  up  sometime,  with  a  ship- 
load of  gold,  as  one  reads  of  in  storj'-books,"  said 
I ;  "  or  perhaps  he  is  a  Turk,  with  a  long  beard, 
smoking  a  great  curly  pipe,  like  the  grand  Turk  in 
Mr.  Chardin's  travels,  and  with  as  many  wives  as 
the  stars  in  the  skies.  Who  knows  but  you  might 
have  done  the  same  if  you  had  gone  with  him  ?  " 

Edward  is  so  sober,  that  I  do  like  to  stir  him 
up  sometimes,  just  as  I  used  to  poke  up  my 
mistress's  great  Indian  cat  and  make  him  play  in 
spite  of  his  grave  airs.  Tom  Atkins  has  promised 
to  bring  me  a  pair  of  these  same  cats  next  time 
he  goes  to  Bombay.  I  hope  he  will  get  them  home 
safely.    I  do  love  a  nice  cat. 

The  next  day  we  rode  to  Biddeford  and  visited 
Master  Gifford,  who  made  us  very  welcome,  and 
confirmed  Edward's  opinion  of  the  worth  of  the 
jewels. 

uBut  I  would  you  had  them  in  Bristol,"  said 
he.  "  There  is  a  very  worthy  man,  a  correspond- 
ent of  mine  own,  who  deals  in  these  matters,  and 
who  has,  I  know,  a  commission  at  present  to  pur- 
chase a  number  of  fine  diamonds.  I  am  going 
thither  to-morrow.    Suppose  you  both  go  with 


318  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or. 


me.  The  sea  will  be  like  a  mill-pond;  but,  if 
madam  is  afraid  of  the  voyage,  my  wife  and 
daughters  will  make  her  most  welcome  while  we 
are  away." 

Madam  Gifford  and  her  pretty  daughters  warmly 
seconded  the  invitation ;  but  my  husband  leaving 
the  matter  to  me,  I  decided  to  go  with  him.  I 
was  not  at  all  afraid  of  the  sea,  and  I  always  did 
like  to  see  new  places. 

We  had  a  very  nice  voyage,  though  the  sea  was 
not  exactly  like  a  mill-pond.  I  was  surprised  to 
see  Bristol  such  a  great  and  busy  city,  and  won- 
dered, like  all  strangers,  at  the  steep  and  narrow 
streets,  too  narrow  for  any  thing  but  a  dog-cart. 
Master  Gifford  took  us  to  a  very  nice  inn ;  and, 
after  we  had  eaten  and  rested,  he  led  us  to  his  cor- 
respondent the  jeweller.  We  found  him  in  his 
shop,  —  a  tall,  nice-looking  man,  with  very  black 
crispy  hair,  and  pale  blue  eyes,  which,  despite  their 
want  of  color,  had  a  singularly  penetrating  look. 
I  liked  him  the  moment  I  saw  him.  When  he 
learned  the  nature  of  our  business,  he  led  us  into 
his  private  room,  and  bade  us  be  seated.  My  hus- 
band stated  his  errand,  and  produced  the  jewels, 
which  Master  Davidson  examined  with  great 
attention. 

"  How  much  do  you  conceive  these  stones  to  be 
worth?"  said  he  at  last. 

"If  they  are  genuine,  they  should  be  worth 
fifty  pounds  apiece  at  least,"  answered  my  hus- 
band. 


Mrs.  Studied s  Diary.  319 


Mr.  Davidson  smiled.  There  was  a  look  of 
mild  amusement  in  his  eyes  which  made  my  heart 
sink  fathoms  deep,  for  I  thought  at  once  that  he 
believed  the  jewels  were  counterfeit. 

"  I  should  say  you  were  no  great  judge  of  such 
matters,"  said  Mr.  Davidson,  smiling  again.  I  saw 
my  husband's  face  change,  and  knew  his  thought 
was  the  same  as  my  own.  I  felt  downright  sick 
with  suspense.  Mr.  Davidson  looked  at  the  jewels 
once  more,  and  laid  them  carefully  down  on  a 
piece  of  black  velvet,  where  they  shone  like  stars. 

"  I  will  give  you  a  hundred  pounds  apiece  for 
these  diamonds,"  said  he  deliberately.  "  I  say  not 
that  they  are  not  worth  more,  but  you  know  I 
must  make  my  profit  on  them." 

"  That  is  no  more  than  right,"  said  my  husband ; 
while  I  felt  like  crying  and  laughing  both  at  once. 
"Then  you  think  there  is  no  doubt  of  the  stones?" 

"  I  can  tell  a  genuine  stone  from  the  best  imi- 
tation ever  made,"  said  the  merchant  somewhat 
scornfully.  "  Nay,  put  me  in  a  dark  room,  and  I 
can  tell  the  difference  by  the  feeling." 

"How?"  I  asked. 

"  That  I  cannot  explain  to  you,  madam.  'Tis  a 
faculty  that  comes  by  use,  and  also  by  inheritance. 
My  family  have  dealt  in  precious  stones  for  many 
generations.  These  stones  are  not  only  of  good 
size,  but  of  very  uncommonly  fine  lustre." 

It  seemed  like  a  dream,  too  good  to  be  true,  when 
I  saw  the  two  hundred  pounds  counted  out,  and 
realized  the  fact  that  my  poor  cousin's  gift  had  made 


320  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


my  husband  and  myself  independent.  Mr.  David- 
son would  treat  us  to  coffee  and  to  some  wonderful 
foreign  sweetmeats,  the  like  whereof  I  never  saw, 

—  rose-leaves  and  violets  preserved  in  clear  syrup, 

—  and  a  kind  of  marmalade  made  of  figs,  as  he  told 
us,  which  came  from  Constantinople.  He  would 
present  me  w^ith  a  box  of  the  marmalade  when  we 
came  away,  and  also  with  a  beautiful  little  china 
coffee-cup  in  a  silver  stand  which  I  had  greatly 
admired. 

"  Well,"  said  Master  Gifford,  when  we  had  re- 
turned to  the  inn,  "  did  I  not  keep  my  word, 
and  bring  you  to  an  honest  merchant?  " 

"Yes,  indeed,  and  we  are  greatly  obliged  to 
you,"  said  my  husband. 

"  Tis  nothing,"  answered  Master  Gifford  has- 
tily. "I  would  do  much  more  than  that  for  your 
mother's  son.  But,  Ned,  if  you  take  my  advice, 
you  will  bestow  this  treasure  in  a  safe  place  till 
we  leave  town.  My  good  friend,  Master  Birch, 
will  take  care  of  it  in  his  strong-room." 

My  husband  agreed,  and  we  went  forth  to  find 
the  place.  Master  Birch  was  a  sugar-refiner,  with 
whom  my  husband  had  some  slight  acquaintance; 
and  nothing  would  do  but  he  must  show  us  his 
furnaces,  and  treat  us  to  Bristol  milk 1  (which  is 
not  milk  for  babes,  by  any  means)  and  other  dain- 
ties. I  wonder,  by  the  way,  if  this  fashion  of 
always  giving  wine  or  strong  drink  to  visitors  will 


1  A  kind  of  very  rich'  punch,  for  which  the  Bristol  sugar- 
refiners  used  to  be  famous. 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


321 


ever  go  out.  I  am  sure  it  will  be  a  good  thing  if 
it  does.  Learning  that  I  was  lately  married,  Mas- 
ter Birch  presented  me  with  three  loaves  of  very 
fine  sugar,  for  luck,  as  he  said,  promising  to  send 
them  to  the  inn. 

Having  thus  prosperously  disposed  of  our  busi- 
ness, we  went  out  to  see  the  town,  and  to  make 
some  purchases  which  I  had  undertaken  for  Master 
Gifford's  daughters.  We  were  in  a  book-shop 
selecting  music  for  the  young  ladies,  when  I  heard 
a  well-known  voice  at  my  elbow  asking  for  Luther's 
Commentary  on  Galatians.  It  brought  back  to 
me  at  once  my  old  life  with  my  mistress.  I  turned 
with  a  start  and  saw  Mr.  Baxter,  looking  older  and 
more  worn  than  I  had  seen  him,  but  as  faultlessly 
neat  and  precise  as  ever.  I  don't  believe  even  in 
prison  his  black  coat  ever  had  a  speck  on  it. 

I  greeted  him  warmly ;  but  he  did  not  recognize 
me  for  a  moment,  till  I  told  him  who  I  was,  when 
he  answered  me  with  all  his  old  fatherly  kindness. 

"But  you  are  so  grown  and  improved,  Mrs. 
Dolly,  'tis  no  wonder  I  did  not  know  you,"  said 
he.  "  I  have  often  wished  to  hear  how  you  got 
on  in  your  new  relations.  But  I  need  not  ask  if 
you  are  happy,  since  your  face  tells  its  own  story." 

"  Yes,  indeed  I  am,"  I  answered,  "  far  happier 
than  I  ever  hoped  or  deserved;"  and  I  presented 
to  him  my  husband. 

The  stationer,  seeing  that  we  had  met  as  old 
friends,  kindly  asked  us  into  his  private  shop,  and 
gave  us  seats. 


322  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


uAnd  so  you  are  married,  little  Dolly,"  said 
Mr.  Baxter.  "  It  seems  but  a  few  days  since  you 
came,  a  shy,  scared  little  girl  of  fifteen,  to  my  Lady 
Corbet's  service." 

"  I  remember  it  well,"  I  answered,  "  and  how 
kindly  you  spoke  to  me  when  you  found  me  crying 
in  the  ante-chamber." 

"  Ay,  'twas  a  hard  place  for  a  child,"  said  Mr. 
Baxter  musingly.  "  I  have  sometimes  feared  your 
mistress's  peculiarities  might  set  you  against  all 
religion." 

"  They  did  something  toward  it,  I  do  believe," 
I  answered  ;  "  not  because  she  was  a  Presbyterian, 
however.  I  saw  enough  in  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pender- 
gast,  and  Mrs.  Andrews,  not  to  say  yourself,  Mr. 
Baxter,  to  cure  me  of  any  such  notion  as  that,  if  I 
had  ever  taken  it  up.  It  was,  that,  while  I  heard  my 
mistress  make  great  professions  of  piety,  I  saw  that 
her  whole  heart  and  affections  were  set  on  things  of 
this  world ;  and  it  does  not  seem  to  me  possible  for 
any  one  to  do  that  and  be  a  true  Christian,  whether 
the  world  take  the  form  of  money  or  fashion  or 
pleasure." 

"  You  are  right,  my  child,  and  glad  am  I  to  hear 
such  sentiments  from  your  lips,"  answered  Mr. 
Baxter ;  "  but  you  were  ever  a  gracious  child.  — 
This  little  wife  of  yours,  Mr.  Studley,  sent  her 
very  last  guinea,  I  do  believe,  for  the  relief  of  a 
poor  prisoner,  when  her  wealthy  mistress  gave  — 
How  much,  Dolly  ?  " 

"  Seven  shillings,"  said  I.    "  I  can  never  think 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary.  323 


of  Dr.  Bates's  face  without  laughing.  How  is 
the  good  gentleman,  sir  ?  " 

"  Why,  well  and  prospering  as  ever." 

"  And  my  mistress :  do  you  know  aught  of  her 
and  her  husband?  for  I  hear  she  is  married  again." 
How  glad  I  was  to  be  able  to  ask  this  question 
without  a  tremor ! 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  heard  of  her  only  this  day  from  an 
old  friend  of  yours  and  hers,  —  Mrs.  Williams," 
said  Mr.  Baxter,  with  a  look  of  disgust  on  his 
thin,  refined  face  which  nearly  set  me  off  laughing. 

"Mrs.  Williams!"  I  exclaimed  joyfully.  "Is 
she  here,  then?  Where  is  she  to  be  found?" 

"  She  is  not  far  off,  seeing  she  lodges  above  stairs 
with  Master  Bridges,  the  stationer,  and  his  sister," 
answered  Mr.  Baxter,  smiling ;  "  but  you  cannot 
see  her  now,  because  she  has  just  gone  out.  She 
can  tell  you  of  your  late  mistress  better  than  I 
can.  She  is  an  admirable  woman,  though  she  is 
infected  with  some  of  the  heresies  of  the  day,  and 
no  more  accessible  to  argument  than  a  post." 

I  smiled,  remembering  some  of  the  ancient  con- 
troversies of  these  two  good  people,  and  how  I 
used  to  wonder  what  they  were  about. 

"And  what  is  the  news  in  town?"  asked  my 
husband.    Mr.  Baxter  shook  his  head. 

"Nothing  good,  sir.  The  Papists  rear  their 
heads  more  and  more  boldly.  Popish  books  and 
trinkets  are  openly  sold  in  the  shops,  as  you  see 
they  are  here  also,  and  conversions  are  growing 
to  be  the  mode  in  the  fashionable  world.  Mr, 


324  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or. 


Dryden,  the  poet,  hath  been  received  into  the  Ro 
mish  Church,  as  hath  also  my  Lord  Sunderland." 

"I  don't  so  much  wonder  at  Sunderland," 
observed  my  husband.  "  He  would  sell  his  own 
soul  or  any  one  else  for  court  favor.  What  part 
does  his  lady  take  ?  " 

"  I  hear  that  excellent  lady  is  greatly  grieved 
and  distressed,"  answered  Mr.  Baxter.  "  She  is, 
by  all  accounts,  an  admirable  woman." 

"  She  is,  indeed,"  said  I.  "  I  have  often  met 
her  at  my  aunt's ;  they  are  great  friends.  And 
you  say  many  converts  are  being  made  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  the  latest  mode,"  answered  Mr.  Bax- 
ter dryly;  "but  there  is  no  knowing  how  long  it 
may  last,  for  the  king  grows  more  and  more 
unpopular  every  day,  and  there  are  ominous  mur- 
murs. I  believe  strange  events  are  preparing  for 
this  nation." 

"I  have  heard  that  his  Majesty  is  inclined  to 
show  great  favor  to  the  Dissenters,  and  hath  even 
promised  them  toleration,"  said  my  husband. 

"  Yes,  and  at  what  price,  and  for  what  purpose  ? 
That  he  may  secure  not  only  toleration.,  but  domi- 
nation, for  his  own  sect.  For  the  sake  of  that,  he 
would  indulge  not  only  Presbyterians,  but  Ana 
baptists  and  Quakers  and  ranters  of  every  sort," 
said  Mr.  Baxter.  "  We  will  accept  of  no  such 
gift,  if  I  know  my  brethren  at  all.  But  I  must 
be  going.  My  dearest  Dolly,  I  am  most  happy  to 
have  met  you  again.  You  have  a  treasure  in  this 
child,  Master  Studley ;  I  hope  you  will  cherish  her 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


325 


as  she  deserves.  And,  my  children,  I  trust  you 
mean  to  set  up  your  household  in  the  fear  of  God, 
and  as  those  who  must  give  account  to  him." 

"  I  trust  so,  sir,"  answered  Edward. 

"  It  was  my  husband  who  first  taught  me  to 
love  God,  Mr.  Baxter,"  I  said.  "  It  was  he  who 
led  the  poor,  tired  little  lamb,  weary  of  the  thorns 
and  briars  of  the  world,  back  to  the  fold  of  the 
Good  Shepherd." 

"  Why,  that  is  well,  and  right  glad  am  I  to  hear 
you  say  so,"  said  Mr.  Baxter.  He  gave  us  his 
blessing,  and  went  away  just  as  Mrs.  Williams 
came  in. 

I  never  was  more  glad  to  see  any  one  in  my 
life.  We  carried  her  to  our  inn,  and  would  have 
her  sup  with  us ;  and  my  husband  going  out  with 
Master  Gifford,  she  gave  me  the  whole  story  of 
her  lady's  marriage. 

"  And  you  have  really  left  her  ?  "  said  I. 

"Ay,  she  turned  me  away,"  answered  Mrs. 
Williams,  with  a  tremor  of  the  lip.  "  After  all 
my  years  of  hard  and  faithful  service,  she  drove 
me  from  her  because  I  spoke  my  mind  concerning 
her  intended  marriage.  But  I  could  not  do  other- 
wise, so  I  must  needs  take  the  consequences." 

"What  possessed  her?"  said  I. 

"  Who  can  tell  ?  The  spirit  which  sometimes  does 
possess  old  women  to  make  fools  of  themselves," 
answered  Mrs.  Williams,  with  more  bitterness  than 
ever  I  heard  from  her.  "  She  is  besotted  with 
that  wicked  man,  and  can  refuse  him  nothing." 


326  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


"Not  even  money?"  I  asked  incredulously. 

"Not  even  money,"  answered  Mrs.  Williams. 
"  She  lavishes  gold  on  him  like  water ;  and  he  takes 
it,  rewards  her  with  a  kiss  or  not,  as  it  happens, 
and,  unless  he  be  greatly  belied,  spends  it  in 
gambling  and  every  sort  of  wickedness." 

"Ay,  we  heard  he  was  a  gambler,"  said  L 
"  Poor  woman,  she  may  die  in  an  almshouse  yet, 
as  she  was  always  predicting  !  " 

"  Likely  enough ;  for  she  hath  put  every  thing 
into  his  hands,  except  a  few  hundred  pounds  which 
Mr.  Robertson  has  in  his  control,  and  won't  give 
up.  You  ought  to  see  her,  with  her  dark  wig  and 
fashionable  dresses,  trying  to  look  young.  Bah  !  it 
makes  me  sick  to  think  of  it.  But  tell  me  all  about 
yourself,  my  dear.  This  seems  a  very  fine  young 
gentleman  you  have  married." 

"He  is,  indeed,"  said  I.  "If  I  thanked  God 
for  nothing  else,  I  would  do  so  for  giving  him  to 
me,  and  saving  me  from  that  other." 

"  And  so  you  may,  so  you  may,  my  dear.  But 
about  your  fortunes  now  ?  " 

"  Our  fortunes  are  not  very  flourishing,  but  yet 
I  trust  we  may  do  well  enough,"  I  answered. 
"  Take  out  your  knitting,  which  I  am  sure  you 
have  in  your  pocket,  and  I  will  tell  you  all  about 
it.  There,  now  you  look  like  yourself"  (for  the 
dear  woman  had  pulled  out  her  stocking,  I  should 
say  the  very  same  I  had  last  seen  in  her  hands). 
"  Now  you  shall  hear  the  whole,  from  the  begin- 
ning." 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  327 


I  told  it  accordingly,  with  a  running  commentary 
of  exclamations  from  my  good  old  friend.  I  had 
hardly  done,  when  she  took  me  up  with  eager- 
ness. 

"O  Mrs.  Dorothy,  my  dear,  take  me  to  live 
with  you  !  I  will  be  worth  ten  hired  servants  to 
you,  and  ask  for  no  wages.  I  have  all  the  money 
I  shall  ever  need ;  but  oh,  let  me  but  have  a  home 
under  your  roof !  You  are  very  young  and  new 
to  your  duties ;  but  I  know  all  about  dairy  work, 
from  the  rearing  of  calves  and  lambs  to  the  making 
of  cream  cheeses." 

"Dear  Mrs.  Williams,  I  would  love  nothing 
better  than  to  have  you  with  me,"  said  I.  "  You 
were  my  only  friend  after  my  mother  died ;  and, 
had  I  but  been  guided  by  you,  I  should  have  been 
saved  the  great  trouble  of  my  life.  But  you  know 
we  shall  be  very  poor.  I  do  not  suppose  I  shall 
be  able  to  keep  any  servant,  except,  perhaps,  some 
little  village  maid  who  will  come  for  her  meat 
and  clothes.  And  you  are  so  accomplished :  you 
might  take  a  place  in  any  nobleman's  household." 

"  Never  mind  my  accomplishments,"  said  Mrs. 
Williams  almost  crossly.  "  They  will  keep,  I 
dare  say.  I  have  no  desire  to  go  into  any  more 
great  households.  What  I  want  is  a  quiet  home 
for  my  old  age,  where  I  can  be  quit  of  the  vanities 
of  the  world,  and  yet  be  of  some  use  in  it." 

"  You  are  not  likely  to  see  much  of  the  vanities 
of  the  world  in  our  household,  seeing  my  husband 
and  I  have  no  more  than  two  hundred  and  fifty 


328  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


pounds  between  us,"  said  L  "  Dear  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams, nothing  would  make  me  happier  than  to 
have  you  with  me,  as  I  said ;  but  you  know  I  must 
consult  my  husband." 

"  To  be  sure  you  must.  But  Dolly,  my  dear,  — 
I  beg  pardon,  I  should  say  Mrs.  Studley  "  — 

"  No,  you  shouldn't ;  you  should  say  Dolly,  just 
as  you  always  did,"  I  interrupted.  "  But  what  were 
you  going  to  say  ?  You  see  I  have  not  forgotten 
all  my  naughty  tricks.  I  know  how  to  interrupt, 
as  you  used  to  chide  me  for  doing." 

"  Ay,  I  remember.  I  was  going  to  ask  you,  my 
dear,  whether  your  husband  knew  about  Mr. 
Morley  ?  " 

"  All  about  him  that  I  know,"  I  answered.  "  I 
told  him  the  whole  story." 

"  And  very  rightly,"  said  Mrs.  Williams,  look- 
ing relieved.  "  These  untold  stories  and  conceal- 
ments are  ghosts  which  have  risen  to  disturb  many 
a  married  pair." 

Mr.  Studley  coming  in  at  the  moment,  I  told 
him  of  Mrs.  Williams's  proposal.  He  left  the 
matter  wholly  to  me,  and  I  was  not  long  in  accept- 
ing the  offer.  Mrs.  Williams  has  made  her  home 
under  our  roof  ever  since,  and  I  believe  will  never 
leave  it,  save  for  her  home  in  Paradise. 

We  returned  to  Biddeford  next  day,  leaving 
our  treasure  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Birch,  subject 
to  Mr.  Studley's  order,  which  we  could  do  with 
great  convenience,  as  Master  'Zechel  Atkins 
meant  to  embark  from  Bristol.     On  our  way 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary.  329 


home,  we  stopped  at  Applecoombe  to  view  the 
farm. 

"  What  a  lovely  wood,"  said  I,  as  we  came  in 
sight  of  the  place,  "and  so  near  the  house." 

"  That  is  the  orchard,"  said  my  husband. 
"Applecoombe  has  always  been  famous  for  its 
orchard.  You  see  the  house  is  a  very  old-fashioned 
one." 

It  was,  indeed,  being  built  of  brick  and  timber, 
like  many  of  the  old  houses  in  Biddeford.  There 
was  a  deep  porch  overgrown  with  jessamine  and 
passion-flower,  and  on  either  side  the  door  grew 
great  myrtle  trees,  taller  than  my  head.  There 
was  a  very  pretty  flower-garden,  —  rather  a  rare 
sight  on  a  farm,  —  and  every  thing  looked  in 
excellent  trim. 

"  This  seems  promising,  does  it  not?"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  I  know  the  place  well !  "  replied  my  hus- 
band. "  I  have  often  been  over  the  farm  with  the 
oldest  lad,  who  was  a  great  playmate  of  mine." 

"And  where  is  he  now?"  I  asked. 

"  His  bones  lie  out  yonder  in  the  Atlantic,  like 
those  of  many  another  friend  and  playmate  of  my 
youth,"  answered  my  husband.  "  But  here  comes 
the  dame  to  welcome  us." 

And  a  very  warm  welcome  she  gave  us,  leading 
us  into  the  house,  and  sending  for  her  husband 
and  sons,  who  were  busy  abroad.  Of  course  we 
had  to  eat  and  drink;  and  then  the  good  woman 
took  us  over  the  house,  while  Edward  talked  with 
her  husband.    The  house,  though  old,  as  I  said, 


330  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


was  convenient  and  pleasant,  —  facing  the  west 
and  south,  well  sheltered  from  the  wind,  and  with 
quite  a  grove  of  walnut  and  sweet  chestnut  trees 
at  the  back.  The  upper  rooms  were  a  good  deal 
pulled  up,  for  which  the  dame  apologized,  saying 
she  and  her  daughters  had  already  begun  to  pack. 
I  liked  the  look  of  the  place  from  the  first,  and 
was  glad  when  my  husband  told  me  he  had  con- 
cluded his  bargain  on  very  favorable  terms. 

We  came  over  again  the  next  day,  to  decide 
about  the  furniture,  most  of  which  we  kept,  as  we 
had  none  of  our  own ;  and  here  I  found  the  use  of 
having  Mrs.  Williams  at  my  elbow  with  her  ad- 
vice, for  naturally  I  knew  very  little  about  the 
matter.  I  do  think  she  heartily  enjoyed  the  busi- 
ness of  poking  the  feather-beds  and  pillows,  tap- 
ping the  earthenware  with  her  knuckles,  to  test  its 
soundness,  and  so  on.  I  followed  after  her,  looking 
as  wise  as  I  could,  and  holding  my  tongue,  so  as 
not  to  show  my  ignorance. 

A  bargain  is  soon  settled  when  both  parties  are 
anxious  for  it.  In  less  than  a  fortnight,  Master 
Atkins  and  his  family  had  embarked  for  America, 
with  all  their  goods  and  chattels,  and  we  entered 
on  our  new  home.  Very  forlorn  it  looked,  I  must 
say,  on  that  chilly  May  morning.  No  house  looks 
very  cheerful  just  after  a  removal ;  and  it  seemed 
to  me  that  the  furniture  left  behind,  and  standing 
about  in  disorder,  and  the  litter  of  odds  and  ends 
of  no  earthly  use,  and  too  good  to  burn  up,  made 
the  rooms  more  dismal  than  they  would  otherwise 


v 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  331 

have  been.  I  did  feel  terribly  down-hearted  and 
discouraged  at  first,  I  must  say ,  but  I  would  not 
have  shown  any  such  feeling  for  the  world.  How 
glad  I  was  to  have  Mrs.  Williams  at  my  elbow ! 
Mrs.  Atkins  had  lent  me  a  strong,  handy  maiden 
to  help  me  for  a  day  or  two.  We  all  went  to 
work  with  a  will,  and  a  few  hours  made  a  great 
difference  in  the  appearance  of  things. 

"  Oh,  it  is  not  bad,  by  any  means ! "  said  Mrs. 
Williams  cheerfully,  as  we  sat  down  to  rest  a 
moment.  "  The  house  is  so  clean,  that  it  will  be 
easy  to  get  it  in  order.  The  kitchen  does  not  look 
like  ours,  when  we  moved  to  the  court  end  of  the 
town.    Do  you  remember?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  I  answered.  "  I  wonder  what 
Peggy  would  say  to  working  in  such  a  place,  —  all 
underground,  and  with  the  water  coming  in  to 
flood  the  floor  at  high-tides,  and  the  black  beetles 
running  all  about  the  walls." 

"  Mussy ! "  exclaimed  Peggy;  "and  do  people 
live  like  that  in  London,  mistress?  I  thought 
London  town  had  been  all  gold  and  gilding." 

"  The  gold  is  all  on  the  upper  side,  my  maid," 
answered  Mrs.  Williams  ,  "  and  most  of  that  is 
but  gilding  and  base  metal." 

"  My  sister  liveth  in  Biddeford  with  a  mer- 
chant's lacly,  and  I  thought  her  kitchen  was  nar- 
row enough,"  said  Peggy;  "  but  to  live  under 
ground,  and  with  black  beetles  —  mussy  to 
gracious !  " 

A  knock  at  the  door  averted  from  Peggy's  head 


332 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


a  lecture  on  profane  swearing,  which  I  saw  hover- 
ing on  Mrs.  Williams's  lips.  She  is  quite  a 
Quaker  in  her  notions  on  those  matters.  The 
visitor  proved  to  be  Master  Atkins,  with  a  great 
basket  containing  roast  fowl,  cream  cheese,  tarts, 
and  I  know  not  what  else,  for  our  dinners.  Dame 
Atkins  had  insisted  on  our  taking  a  loaf  of  bread 
and  a  bottle  of  wine  with  us,  that  we  need  not 
bring  scarceness  on  our  new  home  by  entering  it 
empty-handed.  I  sent  him  out  to  find  Mr.  Stud- 
ley,  who  was  busy  about  the  barn,  and  we  had 
quite  a  feast  ready  when  the  men  came  in.  My 
husband  intended  to  keep  but  one  man  at  the 
house,  and  had  been  looking  for  someone,  but  had 
not  heretofore  heard  of  anybody  to  suit  him.  He 
now  entered,  followed  by  Andrew. 

"  You  see  I  have  found  a  man,"  said  he.  "  An- 
drew is  turned  adrift  as  well  as  ourselves,  and  for 
our  sake." 

"  I  don't  mind,"  said  the  old  man,  though  his 
lip  trembled.  "  I  meant  to  have  left  at  the  term, 
anyhow.  I  can't  abide  to  live  under  the  same 
roof  with  those  two.  I'm  not  so  jroung  as  T  was, 
but  I'm  strong  enough,  and  not  afraid  to  do  my 
day's  ploughing  or  harvesting  with  any  lad  of 
them  all." 

(Edward  told  me  afterward  that  he  would  have 
preferred  a  younger  man  ;  but,  as  Andrew  had  lost 
his  place  on  our  account,  he  felt  bound  to  take 
him  on.  It  seems  my  father-in-law  was  greatly 
enraged  when  he  learned  next  day  that  Andrew 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary. 


333 


had  attended  us  to  the  farm,  and  turned  him  away 
without  ceremony,  though  he  had  lived  in  the 
family  all  his  life). 

"But,  indeed,  he  groweth  worse  and  worse," 
said  Andrew,  concluding  his  tale.  "He  is  like 
one  possessed  with  the  Evil  One,  drinking,  swear- 
ing, and  blaspheming  from  morning  till  night,  and 
almost  from  night  till  morning,  and  Kirton  egging 
him  on  to  drink  more  and  more  all  the  time.  'Tis 
my  belief  that  the  poor  old  gentleman  will  not 
stand  it  long,  and  that  they  are  trying  to  get  him 
out  of  the  way." 

"  But  I  should  think  that  he  would  see  for  him- 
self that  so  much  drink  is  hurtful  to  him,"  said  I, 
while  Edward  went  into  the  outer  kitchen  to 
wash  his  hands. 

Master  Atkins  shook  his  head. 

"  When  a  man  has  lived  past  his  threescore  and 
ten  without  ever  denying  or  controlling  himself, 
he  is  not  going  to  begin  then,"  said  he.  "And 
that  hath  been  the  way  with  Mr.  Studley.  His 
life  hath  been  one  long  self-indulgence  in  every 
wish  which  hath  sprung  up  in  his  mind,  or  which 
Satan  has  put  there.  I  would  not  tell  you  all  the 
mischief  he  hath  wrought  hereabouts,  —  far  more 
than  his  son  ever  heard  of.  I  hope  these  adven- 
turers who  have  got  him  in  their  clutches  may  not 
chouse  Master  Ned  out  of  his  inheritance  entirely, 
but  I  shall  not  be  surprised  if  the  old  man  leaves 
every  thing  to  them." 

Edward  now  returned ;  and  we  sat  down  in  true 


334  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

farmer  fashion,  with  the  servants  at  the  lower  end 
of  the  board.  I  could  not  but  wonder  what  my 
aunt  would  have  said  to  see  me.  But  I  had  made 
up  my  mind  from  the  first,  that,  if  I  were  to  be  a 
farmer's  dame,  I  would  be  one,  and  not  keep  up 
any  fine-lady  airs. 

In  a  week's  time  we  were  comfortably  settled 
in  our  new  home,  and  I  had  made  good  progress 
in  the  arts  of  the  dairy  and  kitchen.  Indeed,  I 
had  taken  lessons  before  of  Mistress  Atkins ;  and 
I  shall  never  forget  my  husband's  face  of  surprise 
when  he  found  me  in  the  barnyard  in  a  red  petti- 
coat and  homespun  kirtle,  milking  a  long-horned 
heifer.  (I  own  I  was  rather  afraid  of  her,  but  I 
did  not  let  her  find  it  out.) 

"What  would  Lady  Fullham  say?"  said  he. 

"  She  would  say  I  had  got  a  good  mess  of  milk, 
I  hope,"  I  answered  merrily.  "And  now  you 
may  carry  the  bucket  to  the  dairy,  if  you  like." 

"  I  would  the  barns  were  nearer  the  house,  for 
your  sake,"  said  Edward  ;  "  but  I  think  our  North 
Devon  farmers  like  to  get  them  as  far  away  as  pos- 
sible. I  will  make  a  change  in  that  matter,  if  we 
stay  long  enough." 

If  it  be  an  inconvenient  fashion  in  one  way,  it 
is  nice  in  another,  for  one  does  not  have  the  smells 
and  noises  of  the  farmyard  all  day  long.  But  I 
must  say  that  on  rainy  and  sleety  days  I  could 
have  wished  the  barnyard  nearer,  and  the  path 
that  led  to  it  less  steep. 

I  did  not  have  a  very  easy  time  that  summer. 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  335 


Of  course  every  thing  was  new  to  me.  I  made 
mistakes,  and  should  have  made  more  if  I  had  not 
had  my  dear  Mrs.  Williams  to  counsel  me.  She 
could  give  little  more  than  counsel,  for  she  had  the 
ill-fortune  to  sprain  her  ankle,  and  was  confined  to 
her  settle  and  arm-chair  for  nearly  three  months ; 
so  I  had  her  to  wait  on  with  all  the  rest.  But  I 
could  well  afford  to  do  it.  My  only  servant  was 
a  younger  sister  of  Peggy's,  —  a  stout,  willing  girl, 
very  good-tempered,  but  not  very  bright,  and  with 
a  special  genius  for  dropping  and  slopping.  More 
than  one  pan  of  milk  have  I  seen  her  spill  all  over 
the  floor,  in  removing  it  from  the  hearth  to  the 
shelf,  after  the  cream  had  clotted  beautifully.  I 
must  say  my  fingers  itched  to  cuff  her  ears,  but  I 
never  did.  At  last,  however,  I  found  the  place  to 
get  hold  of  her.  I  discovered  that  she  was  very 
anxious  to  learn  to  read,  and  I  promised  her  a  les- 
son every  day  that  she  did  her  work  well.  Her 
mother  was  very  doubtful,  declaring  that  Molly 
would  be  good  for  nothing  at  all  if  she  moiled 
what  little  brains  she  had  over  books ;  but  I  perse- 
vered, and  my  experiment  turned  out  admirably. 
Using  her  mind  in  one  direction  seemed  to  brighten 
it  in  another ;  and,  when  Molly  knew  that  her  be- 
loved spelling-lesson  depended  on  the  state  of  her 
floor  and  pails,  she  took  infinite  pains  with  her 
cleaning.  At  present,  I  must  say,  she  goes  rather 
to  the  other  extreme. 

Well,  I  worked  very  hard,  and  was  often  so  dis- 
couraged with  my  own  failures  that  I  was  ready 


336  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


to  sit  down  and  cry;  but  I  could  not  but  put  the 
best  face  upon  matters  when  I  saw  how  hard  my 
poor  husband  worked.  He  felt  very  sadly,  too, 
about  his  father.  We  never  saw  any  of  the  fam- 
ily, but  the  accounts  we  heard  were  worse  and 
worse.  Strange  as  it  seemed,  Edward  did  really 
love  his  father,  and  grieved  over  the  estrange- 
ment. He  wrote  to  the  old  man  two  or  three 
times ;  but  the  letters  were  returned  torn  in  two, 
without  having  been  opened,  and  with  some  abus- 
ive message.  At  last  Mr.  Rowson  rode  over  to  see 
us,  and  counselled  my  husband  to  send  no  more 
letters. 

"  They  do  but  anger  him  the  more,  and  that 
woman  makes  use  of  them  to  set  him  against  you. 
He  is  wholly  in  her  hands  and  those  of  her 
brother,  as  he  calls  himself,  though  between  our- 
selves I  don't  believe  he  is  her  brother  at  all,  more 
than  I  am." 

"  How  strange  that  Mr.  Studley  should  be  gov- 
erned by  such  wretches,  to  the  prejudice  of  his 
own  son !  "  said  I. 

"  It  is  not  strange  to  me,"  answered  Mr.  Row- 
son.  "  Mr.  Studley  was  always  that  way.  He 
always  had  somebody  who  was  all  perfection,  some 
favorite  servant  or  boon  companion  who  flattered 
and  governed  him.  Do  you  remember,  Ned,  how 
he  held  on  to  Wilkins,  his  steward,  long  after 
every  one  in  the  country  knew  that  Wilkins  was 
cheating  the  eyes  out  of  his  head?  I  believe  people 
of  his  disposition,  so  afraid  of  being  influenced  or 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary. 


337 


advised  by  those  who  have  the  right  to  do  so,  are 
often  served  just  in  this  way." 

"No  doubt  you  are  right,"  said  Edward. 

"  I  know  I  am,"  answered  Mr.  Rowson.  "  And 
so,  Ned,  if  you  will  take  my  advice,  you  will  write 
no  more  at  present.  You  know  me  for  your  friend, 
I  hope,  and  I  would  not  advise  you  save  for  your 
good.  I  may  not  have  been  a  very  good  friend  to 
myself,  but  I  have  been  a  good  one  to  you." 

"  That  you  have,"  answered  Edward  warmly. 
"  But,  Rowson,  why  should  you  not  be  a  good 
friend  to  jrourself  ?  Why  should  you  not  break 
off  these  courses  so  unbecoming  any  Christian, 
much  more  an  ordained  priest,  and  live  as  becomes 
what  you  profess  ?  " 

Mr.  Rowson  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"  'Tis  too  late,  I  doubt,"  said  he.  "  Beside,  I 
keep  some  influence  with  the  old  man  by  drinking 
out  a  bottle  with  him  now  and  then.  We  must 
fight  the  Devil  with  his  own  weapons." 

"  Negatur,  to  both  propositions,"  answered  my 
husband.  "  You  do  not  keep  any  influence  with 
my  father  by  sharing  in  his  drinking-bouts.  Will 
he  take  one  bottle  the  less  because  you  ask  him  ? 
Neither  are  we  to  fight  the  Devil  with  his  own 
weapons.  He  understands  the  use  of  them  far 
better  than  we  do.  If  we  would  have  the  advan- 
tage, we  must  attack  him  with  weapons  he  does 
not  understand,  or  dares  not  touch." 

"  Maybe  so,"  answered  Mr.  Rowson.  "But  I 
have  at  least  done  one  thing,  Ned.    I  had  a  little 


338  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


money  come  to  me  from  my  old  aunt  Truesdale's 
estate,  and  I  have  paid  your  father  all  the  money  I 
owed  him.  So  I  have  that  yoke  off  my  neck,  at  all 
events.  But  it  went  hard,"  said  the  poor  man, 
shaking  his  head.  "  I  did  so  want  to  put  it  into 
the  church-organ.  Nobody  knows  what  I  suffer 
every  Sunday  from  that  horrible  instrument." 

"  When  I  come  to  my  fortune,  you  shall  have  a 
new  one,"  said  my  husband.  "  Meantime,  stay 
and  sup  with  us ;  and  my  wife  shall  sing  for  you, 
and  show  you  that  the  milk-pail  and  the  churn 
have  not  quite  spoiled  her  hand  for  the  lute." 

Mr.  Rowson  staid  and  made  himself  very  agree- 
able. 'Twas  a  pity  to  see  a  man  of  his  gifts,  who 
might  be  so  useful,  sunk  in  self-indulgence  and 
sloth.  But  I  have  never  seen  elegant  tastes  and 
accomplishments  do  any  thing  toward  keeping  man 
or  woman  from  sin. 

Matters  went  on  in  this  way  till  the  middle  of 
September.  The  last  month  had  been  to  me  much 
easier  than  those  which  had  gone  before.  I  had 
learned  to  do  my  work  more  easily,  and  took  great 
pride  in  my  butter  and  cream  cheese,  which  Mrs. 
Atkins  pronounced  equal  to  her  own.  The  crops 
were  turning  out  well,  and  the  cattle  doing  nicely  ; 
and  our  apple-orchard,  always  a  fine  one,  was  this 
year  quite  wonderful  for  the  beauty  and  abundance 
of  the  crop.  I  had  been  out  to  look  for  some  stray 
hens  which  had  been  seduced  from  the  ways  of 
virtue  and  domesticity  by  a  pair  of  vagrant  guinea- 
fowls,  and  was  coming  in  with  my  apron  full  of 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary. 


339 


early  pippins,  when  I  saw  Mr.  Rowson  at  the 
kitchen  door  holding  his  jaded  horse  by  the  bridle, 
and  conferring  with  my  husband.  Both  the  men 
wore  such  perturbed  faces,  that  I  was  sure  some- 
thing had  happened,  and  quickened  my  steps.  As 
I  came  up,  Mr.  Rowson  put  out  his  hand  as  if  to 
keep  me  off.  # 

"  Don't  come  near  me,  child.  You  need  not  be 
in  the  mess,  at  all  events,"  said  he. 

"  What  mess?"  I  asked,  wondering,  for  he  was 
always  very  polite  to  me.    "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  My  father  and  his  wife  are  both  very  ill  with 
fever,"  said  Edward  huskily.  "  Everybody  has  de- 
serted them,  and  left  them  to  die  alone.  I  must 
go  to  them  at  once,  Dolly.  Will  you  get  a  fe\y 
things  ready?" 

I  went  up-stairs,  got  my  husband's  clothes  ready, 
and  then  coolly  put  on  my  own  riding-gear.  I 
had  always  noticed  that  if  I  wanted  to  do  any  thing 
particularly  audacious,  and  went  on  and  did  it 
without  saying  any  thing,  my  husband  took  it  for 
granted  that  all  was  right.  So  I  came  down-stairs 
with  my  bundles,  as  though  it  had  been  all  settled 
between  us.  Mr.  Rowson  opened  his  eyes  wide 
when  he  saw  me. 

"  What,  you  !  "  said  he.  "  Edward,  you  will  not 
suffer  this  child  to  risk  her  life  in  any  such  way." 

My  husband  looked  doubtfully  at  me,  but  I  did 
not  give  him  time  to  speak. 

"  Of  course  I  shall  go,"  said  I,  as  quietly  as  if  it 
had  been  a  question  of  going  to  church.    "  A 


340  Through  Unknoivn  Ways;  or, 


woman's  help  will  be  needed,  and  Ned  must  have 
some  one  to  look  after  his  comfort. — Mrs.  Wil- 
liams, am  I  not  right  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  are,  and  none  of  us  will  die  till 
the  time  appointed,"  answered  Mrs.  Williams, 
bringing  her  predestination  doctrine  to  my  sup- 
port. "  Mrs.  Studley's  placa  is  with  her  husband, 
and  she  will  not  die  any  the  sooner  for  doing  her 
duty.  I  can  see  to  every  thing  here."  And  then 
she  began  to  tell  me  how  to  guard  myself  and  my 
husband  by  taking  good  food  and  fresh  air  and 
avoiding  chills.  She  really  is  the  most  sensible 
woman  in  the  world. 

It  was  near  sunset  when  we  came  to  Studley 
Hall,  and  I  was  at  once  reminded  of  my  first  arri- 
val. At  the  gate  we  met  Dr.  Kirton,  booted  and 
spurred,  just  mounting  his  horse. 

"You  had  better  not  go  in.  You  can  do  no 
good,"  said  he.  "  Your  father  will  not  know  you, 
and  they  are  both  as  good  as  dead.  You  won't 
get  any  thing  by  going  in  now." 

"  J udas,"  said  my  husband,  with  such  a  burst 
of  passion  as  I  never  heard  from  him  before, 
"dost  thou  judge  every  one  by  thy  vile  self? 
Dost  thou  think  it  is  that  I  am  thinking  of? 
Begone." 

Kirton  cast  a  venomous  glance  at  Edward,  but 
made  no  reply ;  and  I  was  glad  to  see  him  mount 
his  horse  and  ride  off.  We  dismounted  at  the 
door ;  and  fastening  our  horses,  for  there  was  no 
one  to  take  them,  we  entered  the  house.    All  was 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


341 


still  and  deserted  below,  but  up-stairs  we  heard 
a  woman's  voice  in  such  accents  of  horror  and 
despair  as  I  never  imagined,  and  cannot  describe. 

"Don't  desert  me,  Jack,"  it  cried.  "I  did  all 
for  you.  Don't  leave  me  to  die  alone.  Oh,  for 
pity's  sake,  don't  leave  me  ! " 

We  went  up-stairs,  following  the  sound.  The 
doors  of  two  adjoining  chambers  were  open,  and 
from  them  proceeded  an  air  enough  to  knock  one 
down.  Edward  went  straight  through  the  first 
room,  and  flung  the  casement  wide  open.  Then 
he  drew  back  the  closed  curtains  of  the  bed. 
There  lay  the  poor  old  man,  without  sense  or 
motion,  with  half-open  glazed  eyes  and  blackened, 
parted  lips.  Only  his  heavy  breathing  showed  he 
was  alive. 

"  Go,  Dolly,"  said  Edward  hoarsely.  "  You  can 
do  no  good  here.    Rowson  will  help  me." 

I  obeyed  at  once,  for  I  wanted  to  find  the  other 
poor  thing,  whose  wailing  pierced  my  heart.  She 
did  not  notice  me  at  first;  but  when  I  too  had 
opened  the  window,  and  put  back  the  curtain,  the 
fresh  air  seemed  to  bring  her  a  little  to  herself, 
and  she  stared  at  me  with  a  wondering  gaze. 

44  You  !  "  said  she.  "  You  are  young  Mrs.  Stud- 
ley.  Did  you  die  on  the  moor,  and  has  your  ghost 
come  back? " 

"No,"  I  answered.  "I  am  no  ghost.  See,  my 
hands  are  warm  and  substantial.  Try  to  compose 
yourself,  and  tell  me  what  j^ou  want." 

44  Water,  water,"  she  gasped.     44  Oh,  for  one 


342  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

drop  of  water  to  cool  my  tongue,  for  I  am  tor- 
mented in  this  flame  ! " 

I  did  not  believe  any  thing  would  hurt  her,  and 
I  remembered  that  in  my  ague  Dr.  Burnett  gave 
me  all  the  water  I  wanted,  in  spite  of  Mrs.  Sharp- 
less's  horror.  I  brought  a  glass  of  water,  fresh 
from  the  draw-well7  and  she  drank  it  eagerly. 

"It  is  Mrs.  Studley,"  said  she,  looking  at  me, 
and  holding  my  hand,  as  I  would  have  withdrawn 
the  glass.  "  What  has  brought  you  here  ?  Have 
you  come  to  heap  coals  of  fire  on  my  head?  Don't 
do  that :  it  is  burning  already." 

"  Hush,"  I  answered.  "  I  am  going  to  bathe 
your  head  and  face,  and  you  will  feel  better." 

I  went  to  the  toilet  table,  which  was  loaded 
with  perfumes  and  cosmetics,  and  finding  a  bottle 
of  Hungary  water,1  I  bathed  her  face  and  hands 
with  it,  brushed  her  hair  as  well  as  I  could,  and 
smoothed  and  cooled  the  tumbled  pillows.  My 
cares  seemed  to  soothe  her,  for  she  fell  into  a 
troubled  sleep,  and  I  stepped  away  without  dis- 
turbing her.  I  found  that  Edward  and  Mr.  Row- 
son  had  changed  the  old  gentleman  to  a  clean 
cot-bed,  and  cleared  out  the  room  a  little ;  but  the 
poor  old  man  was  insensible  to  all  their  cares.  Mr. 
Rowson  told  me  in  a  whisper,  that  he  could  not 
live  more  than  a  few  hours.  I  went  down-stairs, 
roused  up  the  kitchen  fire,  and  finding  some  coffee 


1  Hungary  water  was  distilled  from  rosemary,  and  was  es- 
teemed of  great  value  in  fevers.  It  was  the  invention  of  the 
unfortunate  Queen  of  Bohemia. 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


343 


I  made  a  pot  of  it,  toasted  some  bread,  and  set  out 
what  decent  provisions  I  could  find.  There  was 
an  abundance  of  every  thing,  but  in  such  a  state, 
—  such  pots  of  stale  broth  and  heaps  of  bones  and 
fragments,  —  it  was  enough  to  breed  the  plague, 
let  alone  a  fever.  It  was  clear  enough  what  kind 
of  house-keeping  had  obtained  under  the  sway  of 
the  poor  woman  up-stairs.  Lwas  trying  to  bring 
things  to  some  kind  of  order,  when  the  kitchen- 
door  opened,  and  in  came  old  Janey. 

"  I  heard  you  and  Master  Neddy  had  come,  and 
I  couldn't  stop  away,"  said  the  good  soul.  "Don't 
'ee  do  that,  mistress ;  'tisn't  fit  for  the  likes  of 
you,"  —  taking  a  saucepan  out  of  my  hand.  "  And 
how  is  the  poor  old  gentleman  ?  " 

I  told  her.    She  shook  her  head. 

"  'Tis  all  over  with  mun,"  said  she  solemnly. 
"I  knowed  that  afore  I  come.  'Twant  for  naught 
I  heerd  the  white  owl  last  night  and  night  before." 

"  What  about  the  white  owl  ?  "  I  asked,  as  I 
was  picking  up  the  old  silver  spoons  which  lay 
here  and  there  among  the  rubbish.  "I  should 
think  owls  might  be  common  enough  here.  I  am 
sure  they  are  about  Applecoonibe.  They  carried 
off  a  dozen  chickens  from  me  last  month." 

Janey  shook  her  head  solemnly. 

"  'Tis  no  common  owl,  my  tender  ;  'tis  the  white 
owl  of  the  Stuclleys,  the  snow-white  bird  that 
always  screams  before  any  great  misfortune  befalls 
the  family.  I  heard  mun  plain  enough  the  night 
before  master  brought  home  that  witch;  but  no 


344  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or. 


one  ever  sees  mun,  but  one  of  the  family.  Oh, 
there's  a-many  such  things  happen  here  in  the 
west!  But  how  about  that  other?"  I  told  her 
about  Mrs.  Studley. 

"She  won't  die,"  said  Janey  scornfully.  "That 
kind  never  do,  unless  their  Master  has  done  with 
them.  But  do  you  get  Master  Ned  to  come  down, 
and  take  some  meat;  and  take  some  yourself, 
there's  a  lamb.  I  will  stay  with  that  one  up-stairs. 
I  can't  abide  to  think  of  your  tender  hands  a-touch- 
ing  mun." 

uBut  that  is  not  Christian  like,  Janey,"  said  I. 
"  Think  what  our  Lord  did  for  the  woman  who 
was  a  sinner." 

"  Ay,  but  a  repentant  sinner,"  answered  the  old 
woman  shrewdly.  "  There,  don't'ee  stand  to  argue 
with  an  old  woman,  but  bring  Master  Neddy  to  his 
supper,  there's  a  lamb." 

There  was  sense  in  this,  at  any  rate :  so  I  went 
up,  and  with  some  coaxing  brought  my  husband 
clown  to  take  refreshment.  Mr.  Rowson  prom- 
ised to  watch  my  father-in-law  every  moment, 
and  to  call  us  if  he  showed  any  signs  of  life.  The 
other  patient  continued  to  sleep  uneasily,  mutter- 
ing, and  throwing  her  arms  about.  It  seemed  to 
me  her  face  had  changed  for  the  worse,  and  I  said 
as  much  to  Janey.    The  old  woman  nodded. 

"  She  is  struck  for  death,"  she  said.  "  Her  ill- 
gotten  gains  won't  do  her  no  more  good  ;  "  and 
then,  in  a  relenting  tone,  "  Poor  thing,  poor  thing ! 
Maybe  after  all  she  never  had  the  chance  to  learn 


Mrs.  Studley^s  Diary.  345 


better.  Mr.  Champernoun's  Harry,  who  hatli 
been  in  Bristol,  says  he  knows  he  saw  her  in  a 
theatre  there,  a-playing  in  men's  clothes,  and 
that  she  is  a  regular  play  actor.1  To  think  of 
that,  —  a  woman  a-playing  on  the  stage,  and  in 
men's  clothes !  Do  you  think  it  can  be  true, 
mistress  ?  " 

"  I  know  it  is,"  I  answered.  "  I  have  seen  her 
often  in  London."  But  I  did  not  tell  Janey,  what 
I  knew  to  be  true,  that  Becky  Marshall  was  the 
daughter  of  a  godly  Presbyterian  minister,  as  good 
a  man  as  ever  lived,  so  Mrs.  Pendergast  had  told 
me. 

When  night  came,  Janey  would  have  had  me  go 
to  bed,  or  at  least  lie  down ;  but,  as  it  turned  out, 
both  of  us  were  needed  to  manage  the  patient, 
who  raved  in  delirium  all  night,  now  going  over 
parts  she  had  played,  and  now  repeating  bits  of 
the  Westminster  Catechism  which  no  doubt  she 
had  learned  at  her  mother's  knee.  At  last  she 
fell  into  a  troubled  slumber.  The  gray  dawn  was 
beginning  to  steal  up  the  sky,  and  Janey  had  gone 
down  to  see  to  the  kitchen  fire,  when  Mrs.  Studley 
opened  her  eyes,  and  fixed  them  on  me  with  a  look 
I  shall  never  forget. 

u  Am  I  dying  ?  "  said  she. 

"  I  fear  so,"  I  answered.  I  dared  not  but  tell 
her  the  truth.    "  My  poor  Rebecca,  try  to  turn 

1  It  must  be  remembered  that  the  appearance  of  women  on  the 
stage  was  an  innovation  of  Charles  Second's  days,  which  excited 
grave  reprobation  from  all  serious  people. 


346 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or. 


your  eyes  to  God,  —  your  father's  God.  There  is 
yet  time.    Let  me  call  Mr.  Rowson." 

"  Yes,  call  him,  call  him,"  said  she  eagerly. 

I  went  to  call  Mr.  Rowson,  who  was  resting  in 
a  great  chair.  My  father-in-law  was  still  lying 
stupid,  as  he  had  done  ever  since  we  arrived.  Mr. 
Rowson  rose  unwillingly,  as  it  seemed. 

"  What  can  she  want  of  me  ?  I  can  do  her  no 
good.  What  am  I  to  comfort  a  dying  sinner,  who 
need  mercy  myself?  " 

"  We  all  need  it,"  said  I.  "But  hasten,  I  do  not 
think  she  has  many  minutes  to  live." 

When  we  entered  the  room,  we  found  Rebecca's 
great  black  eyes  eagerly  fixed  on  the  door. 

"  The  will,  the  will !  "  she  exclaimed  as  Mr. 
Rowson  came  to  the  bedside.  "Find  that  will, 
and  burn  it.  It  is  in  the  great  walnut  cabinet. 
Burn  it." 

"  Never  mind  the  will,"  said  I.  "  Try  to  think  of 
something  better.  —  Pray  with  her,  Mr.  RowTson." 

"  I  want  none  of  his  prayers,"  she  cried.  "  I 
know  what  his  religion  is  worth.  Go,  go,  and 
find  the  will,  and  burn  it." 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better  pacify  her,"  he  whispered 
to  me  ;  and  then,  aloud,  "Yes,  we  will  try  to  find 
it.  Make  your  mind  easj^,  Mrs.  Studley.  Justice 
will  be  done  at  last,  never  fear." 

She  seemed  content,  and  dozed  off  again  for  a 
few  minutes ;  then  she  roused  up  and  looked 
around. 

"I  thought  my  father  was  here,"  said  she.  "I 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  347 


thought  I  heard  him  say,  '  The  blood  of  J esus 
cleanseth  from  sin;'  but  it  is  all  a  dream,"  she 
added  sorrowfully,  "  all  a  dream.  My  father  is 
in  a  better  place,  and  there  is  no  cleansing  for 
such  as  I." 

"  There  is,  there  is  ! "  I  exclaimed.  "  Dear 
Rebecca,  though  your  sins  have  been  as  scarlet, 
they  shall  be  white  as  snow.  I  know  your  good 
father  would  say  so  if  he  were  here.  Only  be- 
lieve." 

She  looked  at  me  with  a  singularly  intent  gaze. 

"  You  came  to  me  when  all  the  world  deserted 
me,"  said  she.  "  I  slandered  you,  and  abused  you, 
and  turned  you  out  of  doors ;  and  yet  you  came 
to  me  at  the  risk  of  your  life  and  nursed  me.  If 
He  were  like  that  "  — 

64  He  is  a  thousand  million  times  better,"  said  I, 
weeping.  "  Only  turn  to  him,  only  pray  for  for- 
giveness." 

u  You  may  pray,"  said  she,  sinking  back  on  her 
pillows.  "  You  are  good.  Yes,  pray  ;  my  head  is 
growing  heavy,  and  I  cannot  think  of  the  words." 

Oh,  how  earnestly  I  prayed  that  this  poor 
creature  might  have,  even  in  this  awful  moment, 
grace  to  turn  her  face  homeward  to  her  Father's 
house !  I  think  she  understood  the  words,  and 
tried  to  join  in  them  ;  but  as  I  looked  up,  at  a  touch 
from  Janey,  I  saw  she  was  going.  I  began  the 
commendatory  prayer,  but  before  I  finished  it  all 
was  over. 

Mr.  Studley  lingered  all  day,  and  died  at  sun- 


348  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or. 


set,  making  no  sign,  save  that  once  he  opened  his 
eyes  and  turned  them  wistfully  from  Edward  to 
myself.  I  think  he  knew  us  both,  but  it  was  only 
for  a  moment.  The  veil  fell  again ;  and,  just  as 
the  last  rays  of  the  sun  shot  into  the  room,  he 
died  without  a  struggle. 

"  He  is  gone !  My  old  friend  is  gone,"  said 
Mr.  Rowson,  weeping  like  a  child,  as  Edward 
closed  his  father's  eyes.  "  Oh,  if  I  had  but  been 
faithful,  how  different  might  his  death  have  been ! 
But  I  am  a  changed  man,"  said  he,  looking  solemnly 
upward.  "  If  it  please  Heaven  to  spare  some  short 
remnant  of  my  worthless,  wasted  life,  it  shall  be 
given  to  his  service." 

I  was  glad  to  hear  him  say  as  much,  but  I  had 
no  time  to  attend  to  him.  Edward's  fixed  looks 
alarmed  me,  and  I  wanted  nothing  so  much  as  to 
get  him  out  of  the  room.  I  had  no  sooner  brought 
him  to  the  parlor  than  he  fainted,  and  lay  for  some 
time  as  much  like  one  dead  as  a  living  man  could 
be.  However,  I  revived  him  at  last,  and  was 
thankful  when  he  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears.  I 
soothed  and  quieted  him  as  well  as  I  could,  and 
persuaded  him  to  take  some  food,  and  then  to  lie 
and  rest,  while  Mr.  Rowson,  Janey,  and  I  did  what 
was  needful  up-stairs.  How  glad  I  was  that  i 
had  carried  my  point  and  come  with  him  ! 

The  day  of  the  funeral  Dr.  Kirton  appeared,  in 
company  with  an  attorney  from  Biddeford,  a  man 
of  no  good  reputation.  Edward  had  looked  care- 
fully among  his  father's  papers  for  the  will  which 


Mrs.  Studley"  s  Diary.  349 


he  knew  the  old  gentleman  had  made  shortly 
before  our  marriage,  but  it  was  not  to  be  found. 
I  had  my  own  idea  about  the  matter,  remembering 
poor  Rebecca's  words;  and  I  was  not  much  sur- 
prised when  the  attorney  produced  a  will  made 
some  time  during  the  summer,  and  leaving  every 
thing  to  Dr.  Kirton  and  his  sister,  except  a 
hundred  pounds  to  Mr.  Rowson,  and  the  harpsi- 
chord and  music-books  belonging  to  the  first  Mrs. 
Studley,  which,  to  my  great  surprise,  were  left  to 
me.  The  will  was  witnessed  by  two  persons  in 
Biddeford,  and  was  perfectly  formal. 

"  You  will  find  it  quite  correct,"  said  Dr. 
Kirton  very  politely,  but  with  a  gleam  of  triumph 
in  his  snaky  eyes.  "  The  musical  instrument  shall 
be  sent  to  Mrs.  Studley,  as  my  poor  friend  directed. 
—  The  money  shall  be  paid  to  you  in  due  time,  Mr. 
Rowson.  —  I  presume,  Mr.  Studley,  you  will  not 
care  to  remain  here  longer.  —  Mr.  Rowson,  will 
you  not  stay  to  sup  with  me  ?  I  have  your  fee  for 
your  services  to  my  late  brother." 

"  Thy  money  perish  with  thee ! "  burst  forth 
Mr.  Rowson.  "  May  the  Lord  do  so  to  me,  and 
more  also,  if  ever  I  break  bread  with  thee  !  Hast 
thou  killed,  and  also  taken  possession  ?  Beware, 
that  the  fate  of  Ahab  and  Jezebel  doth  not  over- 
take thee  in  the  midst  of  thy  ill-gotten  gains  !  — 
Come,  my  children,  and  leave  this  roof,  which  is 
accursed  with  the  presence  of  a  traitor,  a  mur- 
derer." 

"Mr.  Rowson,  you  shall  answer  for  this  Ian- 


350  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or. 


guage,"  said  Dr.  Kirton,  turning  fairly  blue, 
partly  with  rage,  and  partly,  I  fancy,  from  fright. 

"  I  do  not  fear  you,"  answered  the  vicar.  "  Come, 
children." 

Edward  hardly  spoke  a  word  till  we  arrived  at 
home,  where  Mrs.  Williams  had  every  thing  in 
order,  and  a  bright  little  fire  to  welcome  us.  Then, 
as  he  looked  about,  he  broke  silence. 

"  Well,  Dorothy,  this  is  to  be  our  home,  it  seems. 
Are  you  content  with  it?" 

"  More  than  content,"  said  I ;  "  happy  and  thank- 
ful. But  it  is  easier  for  me  than  for  you  to  lose 
what  is  rightfully  yours.  It  is  very  hard  upon 
you,  my  poor  Ned." 

"  It  is  hard,"  my  husband  admitted.  "  The  old 
place  hath  been  in  our  family  since  before  the 
Conquest.  The  Hall  was  built  with  Spanish  gold 
taken  in  the  days  of  Elizabeth.  But  what  does  it 
matter,  after  all  ?  I  must  soon  have  left  it.  My 
great  trouble  is  for  thee,  my  dear.  I  little  thought 
what  I  was  bringing  thee  to." 

.  "  You  have  brought  me  to  the  happiest  part  of 
my  life,"  said  I.  "  Don't  fret  about  that,  but  doff 
your  riding-gear,  and  get  ready  for  the  savory 
supper  Mrs.  Williams  has  prepared  for  us." 

Edward  was  quite  unwell  for  several  days,  and 
my  heart  sank  fathoms  deep  as  I  thought  of  his 
coming  down  with  the  fever.  But  I  believe  his 
illness  was  more  of  the  mind  than  the  body.  He 
could  not  but  feel  deeply  the  less  of  the  estate 
which  had  descended  from  father  to  son  for  so 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  351 


many  generations,  and  of  which  he  was  now  de- 
prived by  no  fault  of  his  own ;  but  that  was  a 
small  matter,  to  one  of  his  way  of  thinking,  com- 
pared to  his  father's  death,  —  taken  in  the  midst 
of  his  sin.  I  was  going  to  say,  without  one  mo- 
ment for  repentance ;  but  that  would  not  be  true, 
seeing  he  had  had  a  long  life  granted  him  wherein 
to  make  his  salvation  sure. 

As  for  myself,  I  won't  deny  that  I  was  disap- 
pointed, though,  as  I  said,  poor  Rebecca  had  pre- 
pared me  in  some  measure  for  what  happened. 
No  doubt  she  was  knowing  to  the  will.  I  could 
not  but  wish  to  see  my  husband  take  his  proper 
place  in  the  county,  nor  was  I  quite  insensible  to 
the  change  that  would  have  been  made  in  my  own 
position  had  Edward  succeeded  to  his  rights.  But, 
after  all,  I  was  young  and  strong,  and  the  work 
was  no  such  great  hardship.  So  I  did  not  fret 
very  much  about  that.  Only  on  cold,  sleety  days, 
when  the  path  was  slippery,  and  the  barnyard 
miry,  and  the  butter  was  long  in  coming,  or  the 
kitchen  chimney  smoked,  I  would  think  how 
much  pleasanter  it  would  be  to  practise  on  my 
harpsichord  or  sit  at  my  knitting.  But  I  soon 
learned  that  such  thoughts  were  unprofitable 
guests,  and  I  resolutely  turned  them  out. 

Edward  had  one  great  comfort,  and  that  was 
the  change  in  Mr.  Rowson.  Certainly  I  never 
saw  a  man  so  altered.  He  never  touched  wine,  or 
even  cider,  saying  that  he  dared  not  trust  himself 
with  it.   He  took  to  studying  his  Bible,  and  reviv- 


352  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

ing  his  knowledge  of  Greek  and  Hebrew,  for  he 
had  once  been  a  fine  scholar.  He  preached  every 
Sunday,  catechized  the  children,  visited  the  poor 
and  the  sick,  and  strove  in  every  way  to  repair,  if 
he  could  not  undo,  the  mischief  he  had  done. 
The  only  indulgence  he  allowed  himself  was  his 
music.  He  used  the  hundred  pounds  left  him  by 
his  patron  in  repairing  the  church  -  organ,  and 
found  a  good  organist  in  the  person  of  an  old 
gentleman  in  Biddeford,  who  was  just  about  retir- 
ing to  one  of  the  almshouses  in  Exeter,  but  was 
easily  prevailed  upon  to  accept  a  cottage  in  Stud- 
ley  and  a  small  salary  instead.  Almost  all  the 
folks  hereabout  are  naturally  musical;  and  I  do 
think  Mr.  Rowson's  choir,  which  he  took  great 
pains  in  training,  brought  a  good  many  to  church, 
where  they  certainly  heard  the  gospel  preached  as 
never  before.  Mr.  Rowson  was  a  frequent  visitor 
at  our  house,  and  used  to  have  many  deep  argu- 
ments with  Mrs.  Williams  concerning  her  peculiar 
tenets  (which  I  don't  in  the  least  understand,  to 
this  day)  ;  but  they  always  came  together  at  last 
on  the  New  Testament,  so  they  continued  excellent 
friends. 

I  had  heard  but  twice  from  my  aunt  since  my 
marriage.  The  family  was  still  in  London,  de- 
tained by  my  uncle's  business,  which,  however, 
was  prospering,  and  he  was  in  a  way  to  retrieve 
his  losses.  My  aunt  wrote  that  Betty  was  well  in 
health,  but  not  in  good  spirits ;  that  she  did  not 
care  to  go  out,  and  missed  her  sister  more  than 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary. 


353 


ever.  Betty's  letter  was  written  evidently  in  one 
of  her  bad  moods.  She  hated  London  and  every 
thing  about  it.  Her  mother  would  make  her  go 
to  the  theatre  and  to  balls  and  banquets,  and  she 
had  been  obliged  to  leave  off  her  mourning.  She 
only  wished  she  were  with  me.  I  wished  it,  too, 
and  determined  I  would  try  to  have  a  visit  from 
her  when  the  family  returned. 

In  my  aunt's  next  letter  she  wrote  that  Betty 
was  in  better  spirits ;  that  she  had  been  presented 
at  court  and  much  admired,  and  the  king  had 
taken  great  notice  of  her,  which  was  an  unusual 
compliment  from  him  nowadays,  as  his  Majesty 
was  so  engrossed  with  public  business.  My  uncle 
was  like  to  recover  all  he  had  lost,  and  more,  and 
the  family  were  coming  home  for  Christmas,  when 
she  hoped  Mr.  Studley  would  spare  me  for  a  visit. 
Betty's  letter  was  not  a  bit  like  herself.  It  was 
long,  and  full  of  public  news  and  accounts  of  the 
balls  she  had  attended,  but  not  one  word  of  her- 
self. The  letter  made  me  uncomfortable,  I  could 
hardly  tell  why.  I  had  never  told  my  aunt  any 
particulars  about  our  way  of  life,  and  I  suppose 
she  thought  my  husband  and  myself  were  living 
as  we  had  expected  to  do.  Now,  however,  by  my 
husband's  advice,  I  wrote  her  the  whole  story. 
The  letter  I  received  in  reply  was  quite  charac- 
teristic of  my  aunt's  curiously  mixed  character. 
Of  course,  she  wrote,  it  was  every  one's  duty  to 
be  religious ;  but  there  was  no  need  of  parading 
one's  religion,  and  it  was  a  great  pity  Mr.  Studley 


354  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or. 


had  offended  his  father  by  so  doing.  He  ought  to 
have  remembered  that  St.  Paul  became  all  things 
to  all  men.  There  was  no  knowing  how  Ned 
might  have  influenced  his  father  for  good  if  he 
had  only  been  more  complying  to  the  old  gentle- 
man's humors ;  but  all  young  persons  nowadays 
seemed  to  think  themselves  wiser  than  their  elders. 
She  little  thought  she  was  sending  me  to  such  a 
life.  Why  had  not  Mr.  Studley  applied  to  Sir 
Robert,  who  might  have  obtained  for  him  a  com- 
mission, or  some  place  about  the  court,  which 
would  at  least  have  given  me  the  position  of  a 
lady  ?  She  was  glad  to  see  that  I  was  resigned  to 
my  change  of  fortune,  but  she  pitied  me  from  her 
heart.  She  only  wished  I  had  been  as  fortunate 
as  Betty  was  likely  to  be. 

"  So  she  hath  a  match  in  hand  for  Betty,"  said 
my  husband,  returning  me  the  letter. 

"  She  will  never  make  any  match  for  Betty  that 
Betty  does  not  like,"  I  answered.  44  Betty  is  made 
of  different  stuff  from  poor  Meg.  She  is  stronger 
both  in  body  and  in  will.  She  may  break,  but 
she  will  not  bend." 

64  But  do  you  think  your  aunt  would  force  on 
Betty  a  match  which  she  did  not  like?"  asked 
Edward. 

44  Yes,  if  she  thought  it  for  her  good,  as  she 
says ;  that  is,  if  the  man  were  rich  or  great,  and 
able  to  give  Betty  a  grand  position  in  the  world. 
That  was  all  she  thought  of  with  Meg.  When 
Lord  Chesterton  first  proposed  for  Meg,  he  was  a 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary. 


355 


rake  and  an  out-and-out  infidel;  yet  my  aunt 
accepted  him  eagerly,  because,  as  I  say,  he  was 
rich  and  would  make  his  wife  a  great  lady.  But 
my  aunt  will  never  rule  Betty  as  she  did  Meg." 

"  Then  you  dp  not  think  Margaret's  heart  was 
in  the  match  with  Lord  Chesterton?"  said  my 
husband. 

"  Not  one  bit,"  I  answered.  "  As  I  look  back 
at  it,  I  can  see  that  Margaret  felt  she  was  dying 
at  any  rate,  and  so  it  did  not  greatly  matter.  Af- 
terward, when  she  was  ill  at  Cross  Park,  I  believe 
she  really  did  come  to  love  Lord  Chesterton ;  but 
he  was  a  changed  man  then.  I  never  in  my  life 
saw  any  one  more  altered.  But  I  am  sorry  both 
for  my  aunt  and  Betty  if  this  matter  comes  to  a 
conflict,  for  neither  will  give  way  save  at  the  last 
extremity." 

Our  winter  passed  away  quietly  enough.  I  had 
an  urgent  invitation  to  spend  Christmas  with  my 
aunt,  who  had  returned  home ;  but  my  husband 
could  not  well  leave  the  farm,  and  travelling  was 
difficult  in  winter,  so  I  declined.  I  had  great 
pleasure  in  sending  my  aunt  a  hamper  of  cream 
cheese,  butter,  and  other  dairy  products,  the  work 
of  my  own  hands,  and  was  gratified  in  return  by 
a  present  of  books,  music,  and  working  materials, 
and  from  my  uncle  ten  guineas  in  a  pretty  purse. 
My  uncle  even  wrote  a  few  lines  which  were  worth 
more  than  the  money.  He  said,  that,  while  he 
was  sorry  for  Edward's  misfortunes,  he  was  glad 
to  learn  that  the  young  fellow  had  behaved  like  a 


356  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


man  in  standing  by  his  colors,  and  he  liked  him 
all  the  better.  Any  thing  but  these  sneaks  who 
were  ready  to  worship  the  Devil  himself  to  eurry 
court  favor.  He  hoped  to  be  in  a  position  to  give 
us  some  help  before  long,  and  meantime  we  must 
keep  up  a  good  heart.  This  letter  was  a  great 
pleasure  to  me,  for  I  was  always  fond  of  my  uncle. 

As  I  said,  our  winter  passed  quietly  enough. 
Dr.  Kirton  had  really  sent  us  the  harpsichord,  and 
quite  a  library  of  old-fashioned  music-books.  I 
found  some  time  for  practice ;  and  I  amused  my- 
self, and  I  hope  did  some  good,  by  practising  with 
the  choir,  and  instructing  the  school-children  in 
church  music.  Dr.  Dean  was  not  at  all  musical, 
and  the  singing  had  been  something  dreadful,  inso- 
much that  the  Sunday  Mr.  Rowson  preached  for 
us  I  saw  him  privately  stop  his  ears,  and  thought 
he  would  have  run  out  of  church  when  the  chil- 
dren upraised  their  voices  in  the  psalm. 

We  heard  from  Mr.  Rowson  that  Dr.  Kirton  did 
not  live  at  Studley,  and  that  the  Hall  was  shut  up 
and  deserted,  only  that  old  Janey  and  her  husband, 
the  gardener,  lived  in  the  kitchen.  The  house 
always  had  the  reputation  of  being  "  troubled,"  — 
that  is  to  say,  haunted,  —  not  only  by  the  fateful 
white  owl,  but  by  the  spirit  of  a  certain  Moorish 
lady  whom  some  of  the  old  freebooting  Studleys  had 
brought  home,  and  afterward  deserted,  or,  as  some 
said,  murdered.  This  poor  lady's  apparition  used 
to  rise  from  the  old  well  in  one  corner  of  the  court, 
into  which  tradition  said  she  had  been  thrown,  and 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  357 


parade  about  the  house  in  all  her  barbaric  finery 
on  moonlight  nights.  I  used  to  wish  I  could  see 
her,  a  black  or  copper-colored  ghost  would  be  such 
a  pleasing  novelty  ;  but  my  husband  says  many  of 
the  Turkish  ladies  are  beautifully  fair.  Anyhow, 
it  was  the  general  belief  at  Studley  that  Dr.  Kirton 
had  not  only  seen  this  lady,  but  had  also  been 
haunted  by  the  spirit  of  his  unfortunate  sister, 
who  could  not  rest  in  her  grave,  but  was  always 
coming  to  his  bedside  and  adjuring  him  to  burn 
the  unrighteous  will.  He  left  the  care  of  the 
estate  to  his  attorney  in  Biddeford,  and  returned 
to  Bristol. 

I  well  remember  what  a  sweet  spring  evening 
it  was,  when  wre  received  a  most  unexpected  guest. 
I  had  walked  down  to  the  red  gate  to  meet  my 
husband,  who  was  somewhat  late  in  coming  from 
market.  I  was  leaning  over  the  gate  to  look  down 
the  road,  when  I  beheld  a  most  forlorn,  tired-look- 
ing woman,  dragging  herself  up  the  hill.  At  first 
I  thought  it  was  old  Sally  the  hawker,  who  made 
a  practice  of  visiting  us  three  or  four  times  in  a 
season ;  but,  as  the  woman  drew  nearer,  I  saw  she 
was  a  much  younger  person.  I  could  not  see  her 
face  under  her  deep  hood,  but  there  was  something 
in  the  figure  that  was  strangely  familiar.  Seeing 
how  feeble  she  seemed,  I  hastened  to  meet  her. 

"  You  are  very  weary,"  I  said.  "  Let  me  help 
you  to  the  gate,  where  there  is  a  seat  for  you  to 
rest  upon."  (I  had  always  a  fancy  for  meeting 
Edward  at  this  gate,  and  he  had  made  a  nice  bench 


358  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or9 

for  my  accommodation.)  The  stranger  accepted 
my  arm,  and  leaned  on  it  heavily  enough,  till  she 
reached  the  seat,  when  she  sank  upon  it  as  if 
fainting.  I  hastily  untied  her  hood,  and  pushed  it 
back  from  her  face.  What  was  my  amazement 
and  even  horror  to  recognize  my  cousin  Betty ! 

There  was  no  one  in  sight,  and  I  dared  not  leave 
her  lest  she  should  fall  to  the  ground.  I  was  con- 
sidering what  to  do,  when  I  heard  my  husband's 
voice  asking  what  was  the  matter.  I  never  was 
more  glad  to  see  him  in  my  life,  and  that  is  saying 
a  great  deal. 

"How  shall  we  get  this  poor  thing  to  the 
house  ?r'  said  I. 

"  The  house,"  answered  Edward  doubtfully. 
"  Had  we  not  better  lay  her  in  the  barn  first  ? 
She  may  have  the  fever  about  her." 

"  The  barn  !  "  said  I  scornfully.  "  Edward,  it  is 
my  cousin  Betty ;  though  what  has  brought  lier 
here,  I  cannot  guess.  Don't  stand  staring  there 
like  a  moorland  colt,"  T  added  sharply,  for  Ned 
did  indeed  look  like  a  statue  of  amazement. 
"  Hurry  to  the  house ;  and  do  you  and  Andrew 
bring  down  the  little  mattress  from  the  green  room, 
and  a  blanket.  That  will  be  the  easiest  way  to 
manage  it.  Tell  Mrs.  Williams  to  get  the  blue 
room  ready.    And  hurry  back." 

Ned  went  off  without  another  word,  —  he  is  very 
good  to  mind,  when  I  do  take  the  command,  —  and 
the  time  did  not  seem  long,  even  to  me,  till  he 
and  Andrew  were  back  with  the  mattress,  which 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary. 


359 


they  had  laid  on  a  shutter.  Betty  had  partly 
come  to  herself,  but  seemed  unable  to  speak  ;  only, 
as  they  tried  to  lift  her,  she  moaned  and  grasped 
my  hand  tightly. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  Betty,"  said  I.  "  You  are  with 
friends,  and  I  won't  leave  you." 

We  carried  her  up-stairs,  where  Mrs.  Williams 
helped  me  to  undress  her ;  and  with  much  ado  we 
got  her  into  bed,  and  persuaded  her  to  swallow  a 
few  spoonfuls  of  good  broth.  The  fainting  fit  was 
succeeded  by  hysterics,  and  that  by  bitter  weep- 
ing. I  did  not  try  to  make  her  talk,  but  coaxed 
and  soothed  her,  till  at  last  she  fell  asleep;  and 
I  went  down  to  my  husband. 

"Well,"  said  he,  as  I  entered  the  kitchen, 
"  what  does  it  all  mean  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  though  I  have  a  shrewd  guess," 
I  answered.  "I  have  not  tried  to  make  her 
speak.  She  is  fearfully  exhausted.  She  must 
have  walked  a  long  way,  for  her  shoes  are  cut  to 
pieces." 

"But  you  are  sure  it  is  your  cousin,"  said  Ned. 
"  You  could  hardly  be  mistaken,  though  she  comes 
in  such  a  strange  way." 

"  Mistaken  !  "  said  I  scornfully.  "  Do  you  think 
I  would  not  know  you,  though  you  were  to  fall 
out  of  a  comet,  instead  of  riding  home  on  old  Sol- 
dan?" 

"  I  doubt  it,"  answered  ni}^  husband.  "  If  I  fell 
out  of  a  comet,  I  doubt  I  should  be  past  recogni- 
tion by  the  time  I  reached  you." 


360  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


"  Not  you  !  You  would  be  on  your  feet  in  a  min- 
ute, making  an  instructive  reflection,"  I  retorted. 
"  Come  now  and  get  your  supper,  for  I  know  you 
must  be  half  starved,  and  then  we  will  think  what 
is  best  to  do." 

We  talked  the  matter  over,  and  agreed  that 
nothing  could  be  done  till  Betty  was  able  to  tell 
her  own  story.  I  watched  with  her.  She  was 
restless  and  moaning  in  her  sleep  till  near  morn- 
ing, when  she  grew  quieter  and  seemed  to  fall  into 
a  refreshing  slumber.  When  she  waked  she  was 
quite  herself,  but  so  weak  and  exhausted  that  I 
dared  not  let  her  talk ;  only  I  asked  her  if  her 
mother  knew  where  she  was." 

She  shook  her  head.  "No,  no,  and  don't  tell 
her.  Don't  let  her  know.  Hide  me  somewhere. 
Dolly,  I  will  never  go  back  to  marry  that  man  — 
never." 

"  Hush,  hush !  Don't  excite  yourself,"  said  I. 
"  You  are  safe  with  me.  But  think,  Betty,  how 
anxious  your  poor  father  and  mother  will  be." 

She  seemed  to  soften  at  this.  "  Yes,  I  am  sorry 
for  them.  But  I  won't  marry  him.  I  may  be  lost 
for  this  world  and  the  next,  but  I  will  never  marry 
him." 

"  Marry  whom  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  That  man,  Mr.  Cheney  ;  "  and  here  she  fell  into 
her  fits  again,  and  we  had  hard  work  to  keep  her 
in  bed. 

"She  must  be  crazy,"  said  Edward,  when  I  told 
him.    "  Cheney's  wife  died  last  summer,  I  know  ; 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary. 


361 


but  surely  your  aunt  would  never  give  him  her 
only  child." 

"  He  is  very  rich,"  said  I,  "  and  he  sees  all  the 
best  company  in  the  county.  Don't  you  remem- 
ber what  my  aunt  said  in  her  last  letter,  —  that 
Mr.  Cheney  had  a  prospect  of  being  raised  to  the 
peerage  ?  " 

u  Yes,  because  he  favored  the  king's  policy ;  but 
surely  that  would  have  no  weight  with  Sir  Robert." 

"It  would  have  great  weight  with  my  aunt, 
though;  and  Sir  Robert  takes  all  she  says  and 
does  for  gospel.  But,  Edward,  ought  we  not  to 
let  her  friends  know  that  she  is  safe?  They  must 
be  in  terrible  suspense  about  her." 

"  I  think  so,"  answered  my  husband.  "  Rowson 
is  going  to  set  out  for  Exeter  to-morrow  morning 
early.  I  believe  I  will  ride  with  him,  and  carry 
the  news  myself." 

I  agreed  that  this  would  be  the  best  way,  and 
so  it  was  settled.  By  evening,  Betty  was  quite 
sensible,  though  still  weak.  She  told  me  her 
story,  as  far  as  she  knew  it  herself.  I  had  guessed 
rightly.  Mr.  Cheney  had  proposed  for  her;  and 
her  mother,  dazzled  by  his  immense  wealth  and 
his  prospects,  had  insisted  on  Betty's  accepting  him. 
She  refused ;  and  there  had  been,  as  I  gathered, 
a  terrible  scene  between  them,  in  which  Betty, 
goaded  to  desperation  by  her  mother's  calm  persist- 
ence, had  jeproached  her  with  being  the  cause  of 
Meg's  death.  I  knew  how  Betty  could  go  on,  when 
once  roused,  and  could  imagine  more  than  she  told 


362  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


me.  It  ended  with  her  being  shut  into  her  cham- 
ber, from  which  she  escaped  by  climbing  out  of 
the  window.  She  had  left  her  hat  and  gloves  by  the 
side  of  a  deep  pond  in  the  park,  which  had  once 
been  a  quarry-hole,  and  had  then  walked  the 
whole  distance  to  my  door.  She  had  lost  her  purse 
the  second  day,  and  had  been  obliged  literally  to 
beg  her  way ;  sleeping  in  barns  and  outhouses  like 
a  gypsy  beggar,  and  passing  one  night  on  the  open 
moor.  It  made  me  shudder  to  think  of  the  dan- 
gers she  had  run.  I  asked  her  if  she  were  not 
frightened. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  "  I  don't  know  that  I  was. 
I  had  but  one  thought,  —  to  get  away,  and  come 
to  you.  And  I  will  never  go  back  to  marry  that 
man,"  she  added,  her  eyes  growing  wild  again. 
"I  will  drown  myself  in  earnest  first." 

"  Surely  your  mother  would  never  have  forced 
him  upon  you,"  said  I. 

Betty  smiled  bitterly.  "Don't  you  know  my 
mother  by  this  time  ? "  said  she.  "  She  would 
marry  me  to  Satan  if  he  could  make  me  a  duchess, 
and  talk  all  the  time  about  my  good,  —  yes,  and 
make  me  a  present  of  religious  books  for  my  closet 
at  the  same  moment.  I  tell  you,  Dolly,  only  for 
my  remembrance  of  Meg,  I  would  throw  over  all 
religion  as  folly  and  delusion.  But  I  love  to 
think  her  happy,  though  I  shall  never  see  her." 

"  You  must  not  say  that,"  I  said  ;  "  why  should 
you  not  see  her?" 

Betty  only  shook  her  head  sadly;  and  I  was  too 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  363 


much  afraid  of  exciting  her,  to  pursue  the  subject. 
She  was  really  very  ill ;  and  Dr.  Dean,  who  had 
some  knowledge  of  medicine,  thought  she  would 
have  a  course  of  low  fever,  though  he  did  not 
apprehend  any  danger. 

My  husband  returned  from  Lady  Court  the 
third  day.  He  reported  that  my  aunt  seemed 
greatly  relieved  to  find  that  Betty  was  not 
drowned,  as  they  all  believed  at  first;  but  she 
was  very  bitter,  saying  that  Betty  had  disgraced 
herself  and  her  family  by  her  escapade,  and  she, 
for  one,  never  wished  to  see  her  face  again.  Let 
her  bake  as  she  had  brewed.  Sir  Robert  was 
more  lenient.  He  thought  they  had  been  hard  on 
the  girl,  who  was  high-spirited  like  himself.  She 
had  better  stay  where  she  was  for  the  present,  if 
we  would  consent  to  keep  her ;  and  perhaps,  after 
a  while,  things  might  be  arranged.  Indeed,  he 
had  never  so  greatly  liked  the  match,  but  thought 
his  wife  knew  best. 

Edward  remarked  that  Betty  would  have  to 
stay  where  she  was  for  the  present,  as  she  was 
very  ill  from  fatigue  and  exposure. 

"Why,  how  was  she  exposed?"  asked  my 
uncle. 

Edward  told  the  story  of  Betty's  journey,  at 
which  Sir  Robert  broke  down  and  wept,  swore 
she  was  his  own  spunky  girl,  and  he  only  wished 
she  were  a  boy  instead  of  a  maid.  He  ended  by 
sending  Betty  a  kind  message  and  some  money, 
promising  that  she  should  not  be  pressed  to  marry 


364  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


any  one,  and  saying  he  would  ride  over  and  see 
her  some  day. 

But  my  aunt  was  not  to  be  pacified.  She  was, 
indeed,  wounded  in  her  most  susceptible  part,  — 
her  respect  for  the  opinion  of  the  world.  The 
story  had  taken  wing  already  that  Betty  had 
drowned  herself  to  avoid  a  marriage  with  Mr. 
Cheney,  to  whom  she  was  betrothed.  All  Exeter 
was  ringing  with  it.  And  now  it  must  be  contra- 
dicted, and  some  tale  made  up,  which,  after  all, 
nobody  would  believe.  No,  she  had  brought  last- 
ing disgrace  on  all  belonging  to  her. 

"  I  shall  never  hold  up  my  head  again,"  she 
repeated ;  and  then,  weeping,  "  What  have  I  ever 
done,  that  I  should  be  so  unfortunate  in  my  chil- 
dren ?  My  only  consolation  is  that  I  have  done 
every  thing  possible  for  their  good." 

And  I  believe  she  really  thought  so.  She  did 
every  thing  for  the  best,  though  she  was  so  terribly 
mistaken  as  to  what  that  best  was. 

Finally,  my  aunt  was  won  by  my  husband  to 
send  her  daughter  a  message.  She  forgave  her 
all  the  pain  she  had  caused  her,  but  she  did  not 
wish  to  see  her  at  present.  When  Betty  was  well, 
she  had  perhaps  better  go  to  her  aunt  Laneham 
at  Bristol,  where  Mr.  Laneham  had  gotten  some 
perferment  at  the  cathedral.  Her  residing  in  the 
family  of  a  beneficed  clergyman  might  do  some- 
thing toward  restoring  tc  her  the  character  she 
had  lost.  Sharpless  should  send  her  some  neces- 
sary clothes. 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  365 


Betty  smiled  sorrowfully  when  she  received  the 
message,  but  seemed  to  care  little  about  the  mat- 
ter. She  lay  for  several  weeks  very  ill,-  but  re- 
covered her  strength  after  a  while ;  though  she  has 
always  been  slightly  lame,  from  the  effects  of  her 
exposure.  She  began  by  and  by  to  go  about  the 
house  and  to  help  me  in  various  ways;  but  I 
could  not  get  her  to  go  to  church,  and  hardly  any 
thing  could  draw  a  smile  from  her.  At  last, 
however,  we  won  her  confidence,  and  she  opened 
her  heart  to  us.  On  her  first  going  to  London, 
she  had  been  very  unwilling  to  go  to  the  theatre 
or  the  opera,  having  made  up  her  mind  that  these 
things  were  wrong  and  unbecoming  a  Christian, 
and  that  if,  as  she  said,  there  was  any  thing  in 
religion,  one's  life  should  be  passed  in  a  course  of 
good  and  pious  works.  She  had  been  greatly 
strengthened  in  this  idea  by  three  or  four  Roman 
Catholic  books  which  fell  in  her  way.  Indeed,  I 
believe  they  were  given  her  by  Queen  Mary  her- 
self, who  took  a  great  liking  to  her.  Betty  said 
she  would  have  become  a  Romanist,  and  gone  into 
a  convent,  only  there  were  a  few  things  she  could 
not  get  over;  and,  above  all,  she  could  not  make 
up  her  mind  to  think  that  dear  Margaret  was  lost 
forever.  The  king  himself  had  condescended  to 
argue  with  Betty ;  and  if  his  Majesty  had  not  in- 
sisted on  this  point  with  the  stupid  obstinacy  which 
always  distinguished  him,  poor  man  !  I  dare  say  he 
would  have  won  her  over.  But  by  little  and  lit- 
tle, as  Betty  said,  she  was  led  on  to  go  against  her 


366  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or> 

conscience,  and  to  take  pleasure  in  what  she  felt 
all  the  time  were  sinful  amusements,  till  at  last 
she  lost  all  peace  and  hope,  and  came  to  believe 
that  there  was  nothing  left  her  but  a  fearful  judg- 
ment. She  thought  that  she  had  never  possessed 
any  true  love  for  God,  and  was  altogether  a  rep- 
robate. 

"Well,"  said  my  husband,  when  she  paused. 
^  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?  " 

Betty  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  "What  do 
you  mean?"  she  asked.  "What  can  I  do  about 
it?" 

"  Supposing  you  to  have  been  the  sinner  you 
represent  yourself,  there  are  two  courses  open  to 
you,"  said  my  husband.  "You  may  go  on  sin- 
ning against  your  heavenly  Father,  insulting  his 
love  and  mercy,  and  defying  him  to  the  bitter  end ; 
or  you  may  come  to  him  in  all  humility  and  re- 
pentance, confessing  your  sins,  and  asking  forgive- 
ness through  him  who  hath  said,  '  He  that  cometh 
to  me  I  will  in  no  wise  cast  out,'  and  then 
spending  the  rest  of  your  life  humbly  in  his  ser- 
vice and  to  his  glory.  You  have  the  choice  of 
these  two  ways.    Which  will  you  do  ?  " 

Betty  looked  very  doubtful.  "  But  I  never  can 
go  back  and  marry  that  man,  even  if  he  would 
have  me,  which  I  doubt." 

"  So  do  I,  seeing  he  hath  already  married  some 
one  else,*'  answered  my  husband.  "I  would  not 
say  you  are  bound  to  do  so  in  any  case,  though 
I  do  think  you  ought  to  ask  your  mother's  for- 


Mrs.  Stiidleys  Diary.  367 


giveness  for  the  pain  you  caused  her  by  your 
pretended  suicide.  It  was  a  wicked  piece  of  de- 
ception, and  I  don't  wonder  your  conscience  is 
oppressed." 

Betty  colored.  It  is  one  thing  to  call  yourself 
a  lost  sinner,  and  another  to  have  particular  sins 
brought  home  to  you  by  somebody  else.  She 
began  to  excuse  herself,  but  broke  off,  and  at  last 
owned  frankly  that  it  was  very  wrong. 

"  But  I  had  not  thought  so  much  about  that  as 
about  my  life  in  London,"  said  she,  — "  all  those 
worldly  compliances. 

"  You  should  have  treated  them  as  Meg  did,  — 
as  so  many  crosses,  —  and  then  they  would  have 
done  you  no  harm,"  said  I.  "  They  did  not  hurt 
Margaret.  Or,  if  you  thought  them  wrong,  you 
could  have  told  your  mother  so  in  gentle  and 
respectful  language." 

"  I  know  I  did  not  do  right  in  any  thing,  either 
in  refusing  or  giving  way,"  answered  Betty;  ubut 
O  Dolly,  I  was  hard  bestead,  and  I  had  no  one  to 
help  me." 

"  Except  God,"  added  my  husband.  "  That  is 
a  grave  exception.  But  we  will  admit  all  that, 
Betty.  You  have  been  a  great  sinner,  like  all  the 
rest  of  us,  and  your  only  hope  is  in  the  unde- 
served mercy  of  God.  You  can  make  no  amends 
to  him." 

"  That  is  the  worst  of  it,"  said  Betty. 
"  No,  my  maid,  that  is  the  best  of  it,"  replied 
Edward.    "  You  can  do  nothing,  and  there  is  no 


368  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or. 


need  that  you  should,  since  One  hath  done  all  for 

you." 

And  with  that  he  went  on  to  set  before  Betty 
the  plan  of  our  redemption,  all  its  freeness  and 
fulness,  as  he  had  once  set  it  before  me.  But  I 
think  it  was  harder  for  Betty  to  take  it  in  than  it 
had  been  for  me.  One  day  we  were  sitting  in  the 
porch  with  our  spinning,  —  for  .she  was  bent  upon 
learning  all  sorts  of  country  arts,  and  I  had 
taught  her  to  spin  as  Mrs.  Williams  had  taught 
me.  Betty  was  very  sad  and  not  inclined  to  talk, 
and  I  did  not  urge  her.  We  were  sitting  thus, 
when  old  Alice  Yeo  came  for  her  jug  of  milk.  She 
was  a  good  old  body,  who  lived  in  a  little  cottage 
on  the  farm,  and  eked  out  a  living  by  the  help  of 
the  church  dole  and  what  little  she  could  earn  by 
spinning  and  knitting.  She  was  lame,  and  seldom 
came  so  far  as  our  house,  generally  sending  by  one 
of  the  schoolgirls,  who  were  very  kind  to  her. 

"  Why,  Goody,  this  is  a  wonder  ! "  said  I,  rising 
to  help  her  up  the  step  and  give  her  a  seat.  "  You 
don't  often  walk  so  far." 

"No,  mistress;  but  the  fine  day  tempted  me, 
and  I  thought  I  would  like  to  see  the  place  once 
more.  Mussy,  how  the  myrtle-trees  have  grown, 
to  be  sure !  Great  trees  they  be  now ;  but  I 
remember  well  when  Mary  Lee  and  I  planted  them, 
when  she  came  here  a  bride,  sixty  years  and  more 
agone.  Ay,  and  she  planted  yonder  pinks,  too, 
that  very  time.1    A  sweet  and  gracious  maid  she 

1 1  know  of  a  bed  of  pinks  which  was  planted  a  hundred  and 
thirty  years  ago. 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  369 


was,  and  a  dutiful  wife  ;  but  she  did  not  live  long : 
she  died  with  her  first  babe." 
"  Poor  thing !  "  said  Betty. 

"  Oh,  you  need  not  pity  her,  my  lamb !  She 
died  happy,  yes,  rejoicing,  and  she  saw  the  room 
full  of  angels.  I  was  with  her,  and  it  was  like  a 
look  into  heaven.  No,  no,  you  needn't  pity  her. 
She  went  to  her  rest  sixty  years  ago,  and  I  have 
lived  to  bury  husband  and  children  and  all.  But 
you  need  not  pity  me,  neither,"  she  added,  with 
the  sweet,  tremulous  smile  of  gracious  old  age« 
"  I  will  soon  be  at  home ;  and  then  it  won't  mat- 
ter whether  the  way  thither  was  long  or  short, 
rough  or  smooth :  'twill  be  home  all  the  same.  — 
Mistress,  could  you  spare  me  ere  a  bit  of  honey 
now?  My  cough  gets  troublesome  of  nights 
again,  and  the  honey  and  hyssop  do  seem  to 
loosen  it  like." 

I  brought  her  the  honey,  and  some  other  little 
matters  I  had  laid  aside  for  her,  and  sent  Peggy 
home  with  her  to  carry  her  jug  down  the  hill. 
When  I  came  back  to  my  seat,  Betty  was  gazing 
abroad  over  the  sea.  She  was  silent  a  little,  and 
then  said  abruptly,  — 

"  Dolly,  I  would  give  sight  and  hearing  and  all 
I  possess,  to  be  as  happy  as  that  old  woman." 

"  You  have  no  need  to  give  any  of  these  things," 
I  answered  ;  "  you  have  only  to  give  up  self.  Tell 
me  honestly,  Betty,  is  it  not  some  cherished  sin 
that  keeps  you  back  from  peace  ?  something  you 
know  you  ought  to  do,  and  will  not  do  ?  " 


370 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or^ 


Betty  withdrew  her  eyes  from  the  sea,  and  fixed 
them  on  her  spinning. 

"  You  think  I  ought  to  write  to  my  mother  and 
beg  her  pardon,"  said  she,  after  a  little  silence. 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  "and  so  do  you." 

Her  color  rose.  "  Oh,  yes,  of  course  !  "  said  she. 
"  You  think  I  should  say  I  am  sorry  I  did  not 
please  her  by  marrying  that  man." 

I  began  to  lose  patience.  "Betty,  you  know 
better,"  said  I.  "  Mr.  Cheney  is  married  already, 
so  there  is  no  question  of  that.  You  know  that 
by  your  own  showing  you  used  very  unbecoming 
and  even  cruel  language  to  your  mother.  You 
ought  to  beg  her  pardon  for  that,  and  for  the  still 
more  cruel  deception  you  played  upon  her  and 
your  father,  by  making  them  believe  you  were 
drowned." 

"But  my  mother  was  wrong  in  trying  to  force 
me  into  a  match  with  a  man  I  disliked.  Even 
you  admit  that,  Dolly,"  said  Betty. 

"  Two  wrongs  do  not  make  a  right,"  I  answered. 
"Your  business  is  not  wTith  what  your  mother 
did,  but  what  you  did ;  and  I  tell  you  plainly,  that 
till  you  forgive  your  mother,  and  ask  her  to  pardon 
you,  you  have  no  right  to  expect  peace  or  even 
forgiveness.  4  If  I  regard  iniquity  in  my  heart, 
the  Lord  will  not  hear  me.'  Pride  and  anger  and 
the  peace  of  this  world  cannot  dwell  together, 
much  more  the  peace  of  God." 

I  went  away  and  left  her  to  think  of  my  words, 
nor  did  T  encourage  her  to  talk  further  about  the 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  371 


matter.  Two  or  three  days  afterward  she  was  in 
her  room  nearly  all  day.  At  night  she  brought 
me  a  letter,  and  asked  me  to  read  it. 

"  No,  I  would  rather  not,"  said  I.  "  Write  such 
a  letter  as  you  think  will  be  pleasing  to  your 
heavenly  Father,  and  then  it  will  be  sure  to  be 
right." 

She  thought  a  little,  and  then,  taking  up  the 
letter,  she  tore  it  to  pieces.  I  heard  her  moving 
several  times  in  the  night.  In  the  morning  she 
brought  me  another  letter,  sealed  this  time,  and 
asked  Edward  to  have  it  sent.  He  held  her  hand 
a  moment  as  he  took  it,  and  looked  into  her  face. 

"  It  is  all  right  now,"  said  he. 

"  I  hope  so,"  she  answered,  smiling,  though  her 
eyes  were  moist ;  "but  oh,  it  has  been  a  hard  fight, 
and  I  fear  all  is  not  yet  won." 

"  I  dare  say  not,"  my  husband  answered.  "  Such 
battles  often  have  to  be  fought  many  times  over, 
and  Satan  never  attacks  us  with  more  vehemence 
than  when  we  have  just  humbled  ourselves  to 
some  fellow  sinner." 

"  I  suppose  that  is  true,"  said  Betty ;  "  but  in 
truth,  cousin,  I  never  tried  it  many  times.  I 
don't  know  that  I  ever  did  unless  I  were  forced 
to  it." 

"  I  know.  You  and  Meg  were  different  in  that," 
said  I.  "  She  was  always  ready  to  ask  pardon, 
even  when  she  was  the  least  to  blame." 

"  We  were  different  in  every  respect,  except  for 
the  love  we  bore  each  other,"  said  Betty,  sighing. 


372  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


"  I  know  when  we  had  a  difference,  and  I  had 
been  far  the  most  in  fault,  she  would  ask  me  to 
forgive  her.  But,  cousin,  will  you  send  this  letter 
for  me  ?  " 

"  That  I  will  gladly,"  he  answered ;  and,  it 
being  market-day,  he  posted  it  that  very  morning. 
The  answer  was  not  long  in  coming.  I  watched 
Betty  with  some  anxiety  as  she  read  it,  and  saw 
her  color  rise,  and  her  eyes  fill  with  tears.  When 
she  had  finished,  she  handed  it  to  me.  My  aunt 
said  that,  as  Betty  had  asked  for  forgiveness,  she 
must  grant 'it,  of  course.  She  supposed  Betty  was 
weary  of  her  rustication,  and  wished  to  come  home, 
but  that  could  not  be  at  present.  If  she  were 
tired  of  the  country,  she  could  go  to  her  aunt 
Laneham  at  Bristol,  who  would  no  doubt  receive 
her. 

Betty  had  gone  to  her  own  room,  leaving  the 
letter  with  me.  I  handed  it  to  Edward  with  an 
expression  of  indignation. 

"  It  is  a  cruel  letter,"  said  I ;  "and  not  like  my 
aunt  at  all.  She  was  formerly  always  ready  to 
forgive,  when  any  one  made  submission." 

"  I  can  read  between  the  lines,"  answered  Ed- 
ward. uYour  aunt's  conscience  is  uneasy.  She 
knows  she  has  been  wrong  herself,  and  she  has  not 
the  courage  to  say  as  much,  so  she  takes  it  out  in 
this  way.  She  will  come  to  a  better  mind,  after 
a  while.  I  am  glad  Betty  is  here,  and  not  at 
home." 

"  She  seems  very  contented,"  said  I.    "  How 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  373 


handily  she  takes  to  every  sort  of  work !  It  seems 
as  though  she  had  found  her  true  vocation." 

"  Like  somebody  else  I  know,"  returned  my 
husband.  "  What  a  farmer's  dame  had  been  lost 
to  the  world,  Dolly,  if  you  had  married  a  great 
man!" 

The  summer  wore  on  very  quietly.  We  had  a 
visit  from  my  uncle,  who  staid  with  us  two  or 
three  days,  and  seemed  to  enjoy  his  visit.  My 
aunt  wrote  to  Betty  by  him  in  a  much  more  kindly 
strain,  making  no  allusion  to  her  fault,  and  send- 
ing her  a  pretty  present.  She  said  nothing,  how- 
ever, about  Betty's  coming  home,  nor  did  Sir 
Robert  encourage  it,  for  the  present.  Betty  sent 
her  mother  a  pair  of  fine  hose  of  her  own  spin- 
ning and  knitting,  and  received  a  kind  note  in 
reply ;  but  still  nothing  was  said  about  her  going 
home. 

But  it  soon  became  apparent  that  Betty  was 
likely  to  have  a  home  of  her  own,  unless  some- 
body interfered  to  prevent.  Mr.  Rowson  had 
admired  her  very  much  from  the  first.  After  a 
while,  they  came  to  an  understanding ;  and  the 
next  time  Sir  Robert  came  over,  he  made  propo- 
sals for  Betty's  hand.  He  was  very  well  to  do. 
His  living  was  a  good  one  for  those  parts,  and  he 
had  quite  a  nice  little  private  fortune.  His  family 
was  respectable ;  and,  though  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  difference  in  their  ages,  it  was  on  the  right 
side. 

I  could  see  at  once  that  Sir  Robert  was  taken 


374  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


with  Mr.  Rowson.  He  talked  with  Betty  in  pri- 
vate, and  also  with  Edward  and  me,  and  assured 
Mr.  Rowson  that  his  good  word  should  not  be 
wanting  to  his  suit. 

"  I  fear  her  mother  will  not  be  pleased  at  Betty's 
marrying  a  parson,"  remarked  my  uncle  to  me  at 
parting ;  "  but  I  will  do  my  best  to  persuade  her, 
and  the  maid  shall  have  her  way.  Methinks  we 
have  made  enough  of  sacrifices  to  the  world, 
which  wrill  never  make  any  for  us." 

"Nor  for  any  one  else,"  remarked  Edward. 
"  The  world  is  a  bad  paymaster." 

"I  believe  you  are  right,  nephew,"  said  my 
uncle  thoughtfully.  "I  shall  always  think  that 
last  season  in  London  was  the  death  of  poor  Meg. 
I  would  not  say  so  to  her  mother,  since  she  acted 
for  the  best;  but  I  believe  if  the  maid  had  staid 
quietly  at  home,  she  might  have  been  alive  now. 
Well,  good-by,  young  folks,  and  God  bless  you! 
My  wife  pities  your  lot,  but  I  must  say  you 
appear  as  well  to  do  as  anybody  I  know.  I  shall 
never  forget  your  kindness  to  my  poor  daughter. 
And  between  ourselves,  I  would,  for  my  owtl 
part,  a  hundred  times  rather  see  Bettj^  wed  to 
an  honest  fellow  like  Rowson,  country  parson 
though  he  be,  than  to  Cheney,  who  hath  got  his 
peerage  by  declaring  himself  a  Papist.  I  don't 
know  what  the  world  is  coming  to,  for  my  part. 
I  have  always  stood  by  Church  and  king,  but  as 
things  are  going  now —  But  there,  I  must  not 
stay  longer,  or  I  shall  be  benighted  on  the  moor. 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary. 


375 


—  Keep  up  a  good  heart,  Bess.  It  will  all  come 
right  in  time." 

Contrary  to  all  our  expectations,  my  aunt  made 
no  objections  to  the  match,  but  gave  her  consent 
and  blessing  without  delay.  In  fact,  I  think  she 
was  very  glad  that  she  had  an  opening  for  a  rec- 
onciliation. She  would  have  Betty  married  from 
home,  and  we  must  all  go  to  the  wedding.  It  was 
in  the  farmer's  holiday,  between  haying  and  har- 
vest, and  we  were  not  afraid  to  leave  our  matters 
in  such  good  hands  as  those  of  Mrs.  Williams  and 
Andrew.  My  aunt  received  us  with  the  greatest 
kindness;  and  no  one  would  have  guessed,  from  her 
manner,  that  Betty  had  not  been  away  on  an  ordi- 
nary visit.  Perhaps  it  was  the  best  way  on  the 
whole. 

Mr.  Rowson  had  a  cousin  living  in  Exeter,  the 
dowager  Lady  Peckham,  who  was  well-jointured 
and  much  respected ;  though  she  went  little  into 
society,  and  was  accounted  a  bit  of  a  Puritan. 
I  think  this  connection  did  something  to  reconcile 
my  aunt  to  the  match.  Lady  Peckham  was  at 
the  wedding,  as  were  also  the  bishop  and  his  lady, 
and  Mr.  Study's  old  friend  Lady  Clarenham :  so 
it  was  quite  a  grand  affair.  I  don't  think  all  the 
parade  was  to  Betty's  taste  ;  but  her  mother  would 
have  it  so,  and  Betty  gave  way  to  her  in  every  thing, 
as  was  but  right.  It  must  have  been  rather  pleas- 
ing to  her  to  hear  the  reprobation  which  was  poured 
from  every  side  on  my  Lord  Viscount  Cheney  (I 
know  it  was  to  me),  but  she  made  no  sign  thereof. 


376  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or. 

Lord  Cheney  was  in  London,  in  great  favor  at 
court,  where  the  king  was  going  from  bad  to 
worse.  His  Majesty  was  at  open  feud  with  both 
the  universities,  and  the  clergy  (even  those  who 
had  been  most  active  in  preaching  passive  obedi- 
ence to  the  worst  of  kings)  took  sides  with  their 
colleges.  It  makes  so  very  much  difference 
whether  it  is  yourself  or  somebody  else  that  is  to 
be  passively  obedient.  The  king  had  an  army  en- 
camped on  Hounslow  Heath,  for  the  purpose,  as 
was  said,  of  overawing  the  city,  which  was  not 
overawed  at  all,  but  only  enraged.  The  Dissenters 
were  openly  courted,  and  some  of  them  even 
appeared  in  court ;  but  the  leaders  among  them, 
like  Mr.  Baxter  and  Dr.  Bates,  stood  aloof,  and 
made  no  response  to  the  king's  advances.  The 
Bishop  of  Exeter  still  clung  to  the  hope  that  mat- 
ters would  be  accommodated,  but  his  clergy  were 
open  enough  in  their  expressions  of  discontent;  and 
the  dean  had  declared  plainly  that  the  Prince  of 
Orange,  Calvinist  as  he  was,  would  be  better  than 
the  rule  of  the  Jesuits,  —  which  was  what  every 
one  thought  we  were  coming  to. 

It  was  like  coming  into  a  new  world  to  me,  who 
had  lived  so  quietly  for  the  past  year  and  more. 
I  must  say  I  found  it  very  amusing  for  a  little  ; 
but  I  soon  tired  of  the  bustle  and  fuss,  and  was 
not  a  bit  sorry  to  get  back  to  my  quiet  home 
again.  Betty  was  to  make  a  little  visit  at  home, 
and  then  to  Mr.  Rowson's  old  mother,  who  lived 
not  far  from  Bath.    We  employed  the  time  of  her 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  377 


absence  in  putting  the  parsonage  in  nice  order,  and 
disposing  therein  the  furniture  my  uncle  sent  over. 
The  house  was  a  good  one,  though  not  large  ;  but 
Mr.  Rowson's  housekeeping  had  been  but  slack, 
even  for  a  bachelor,  and  such  a  looking  place  I 
never  saw  as  Mrs.  Williams  and  I  found  when  we 
went  over.  By  good  luck,  the  old  housekeeper 
went  off  in  dudgeon  at  the  news  of  her  master's 
marriage :  so  we  had  the  place  to  ourselves,  and 
soon  put  it  in  nice  order.  Peggy's  eldest  sister 
had  grown  tired  of  living  in  a  town,  and  had  come 
home.  She  was  a  staid,  capable  body,  and  was 
glad  to  get  a  service  near  her  mother,  who  was 
growing  old  :  so  we  installed  her  in  the  kitchen, 
with  a  little  maiden  from  the  school  under  her ; 
and,  when  Betty  came  home,  she  found  every  thing 
in  readiness,  even  to  the  supper. 

I  think  she  has  always  been  happy  in  her  new 
life.  She  takes  great  interest  in  parish  matters, 
and  hath  set  up  a  good  school  which  she  superin- 
tends herself;  though  her  two  babes,  which  might 
almost  as  well  be  twins,  give  her  plenty  to  do. 
Her  mother  has  visited  her  more  than  once,  and 
they  are  the  best  of  friends.  Betty  has  never  told 
her  what  she  told  Edward  and  me,  that  Mr.  Row- 
son  refused  the  offer  of  being  a  minor  canon  at 
Exeter,  which  came  to  him  shortly  after  his  mar- 
riage. 

"  It  would  only  vex  her,"  said  she,  "  and  what 
is  the  use  ?  I  can  tell  you,  Dolly,  since  I  had  that 
one  to  deal  with,"  pointing  to  her  elder  child,  who 


378  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

is  a  little  pickle,  "  I  begin  to  understand  what 
I  owe  to  my  mother.  I  think  she  mistook  in 
many  things ;  but,  as  I  call  to  mind  her  kindness 
and  self-sacrifice  and  patience,  I  cannot  too  deeply 
repent  my  own  perverseness." 

" In  not  marrying  Lord  Cheney?"  said  I  mis- 
chievously. 

"You  know  better  than  that,"  she  answered, 
laughing.  "  I  would  not  change  my  poor  parson 
for  any  lordling  in  the  land,  much  less  for  him 
whom  I  always  hated.  But  I  might  have  refused 
in  a  different  manner ;  and  I  can  see,  in  a  hundred 
instances,  how  I  set  myself  up  against  my  mother 
merely  for  the  sake  of  contradiction.  Yes,  indeed, 
Mrs.  Peggy,  there,  has  opened  my  eyes  to  a  great 
many  things  I  never  should  have  seen  but  for 
her." 

But  I  am  spinning  out  my  story  so  long  that  I 
fear  none  of  my  descendants  will  have  the  patience 
to  read  it.  We  lived  at  the  farm  for  a  year  longer, 
prospering  on  the  whole ;  though  we  had  to  work 
hard  for  what  we  got,  and  had  our  ups  and  downs 
like  other  folks.  We  heard  nothing  from  Dr. 
Kirton,  except  that  his  agent  had  raised  all  the 
rents  and  exacted  them  pitilessly.  Dr.  Kirton 
himself  never  came  near  the  Hall,  which  was  now 
quite  shut  up  and  deserted ;  for  Janey's  husband 
had  died,  and  she  would  not  stay  alone,  and  no 
one  else  could  be  found  to  brave  the  terrors  of  the 
ghosts,  which,  according  to  the  old  servants  and 
tenants,  made  a  parade-ground  of  the  Hall.  Janey 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  379 


came  to  us  and  took  up  her  abode  with  old  Alice, 
who  was  altagether  bedridden  and  needed  some- 
one to  wait  on  her. 

As  I  said,  we  lived  on  quietly,  and  heard  only 
distant  echoes  of  the  storm  which  was  muttering 
and  gathering  at  home  and  abroad.  When  my 
husband  rode  to  Biddeford  market,  he  generally 
brought  home  the  "Gazette,"  —  which,  however, 
told  us  little,  being  under  such  close  censorship,  — 
and  two  or  three  news-letters  lent  him  by  Master 
Gifford.  From  them  we  heard  of  the  stirring 
events  in  London,  of  the  Declaration  of  Indul- 
gence, the  arrest  of  the  bishops  and  their  acquittal, 
and  the  mad  conduct  of  the  king  and  his  Jesuit 
advisers,  which  men  said  were  by  no  mean  ap- 
proved by  the  Pope. 

I  had  ridden  to  Biddeford  with  my  husband, 
and  was  busy  in  Master  Gifford's  shop,  selecting 
some  household  matters,  and  talking  with  our 
good  old  friend  and  his  wife,  when  a  foreign  look- 
ing man,  with  the  unmistakable  gait  of  a  sailor, 
came  in  and  asked  for  Master  Gifford. 

"  I  am  Master  Gifford,  at  your  service,"  said  the 
merchant. 

Now,  a  foreign  sailor  is  no  sight  at  all  in  Bidde- 
ford, and  I  turned  away  carelessly  enough  to 
speak  to  my  husband  who  had  just  come  in. 
At  the  sound  of  his  voice,  the  stranger  turned 
hastily  around. 

"  Ned ! "  said  he  with  a  curious  tremor  in  his 
voice  ;  "surely  this  is  Edward  Studley." 


380  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


"  Edward  Studley,  at  your  service,  sir,"  said  my 
husband ;  but  in  a  moment  his  face  changed,  and 
he  looked  like  one  who  saw  a  ghost. 

"  Don't  you  know  me,  Ned  ?  "  said  the  stranger. 
"  I  should  have  known  you,  had  I  met  you  in 
Barbary." 

"■If  a  man  can  rise  from  the  dead,  this  is  my 
uncle  Philip,"  exclaimed  Edward,  catching  him 
by  the  hand.  "  Is  it  really  you  in  substance  of 
the  body?" 

"  Even  as  you  see,"  said  the  sailor,  with  a  mighty 
shake  of  the  hand,  which  left  no  doubt  of  his 
corporeal  substance.  "  It  is  Philip  Bassett  him- 
self, escaped  not  from  death,  but  from  long  cap- 
tivity, well  nigh  as  hopeless  as  death." 

It  may  be  guessed  what  a  welcome  we  gave  to 
our  uncle,  whom  every  one  had  mourned  as  dead. 
There  was  not  room  for  many  words,  for  we  had 
to  be  on  our  way  home.  Mr.  Bassett  looked  sur- 
prised when  we  took  the  road  to  Applecoombe. 

"  How  is  this  ?  "  said  he.  "  This  was  not  the 
road  to  Studley  in  my  time." 

"  Nor  is  it  now,"  answered  Edward.  "  We  are 
living  at  Applecoombe." 

"At  Applecoombe,"  repeated  uncle  Philip. 
"What,  you  have  parted  company  with  the  old 
gentleman  at  last!  Well,  no  one  can  blame 
you." 

"  My  father  is  dead,"  said  Edward  briefly. 
Mr.  Bassett  said  no  more,  but  began  asking 
about  different  neighbors  as  we  passed  one  house 


Mrs.  Studley^s  Diary. 


381 


and  another  on  the  road.  It  was  not  till  we  were 
seated  by  ourselves  after  supper,  that  he  began 
again. 

"  But  if  your  father  is  dead,  Ned,  how  does  it 
happen  that  you  are  living  here  ?  Why  are  you 
not  on  your  own  estate  ?  " 

"  Because  I  have  no  estate,"  answered  Edward. 
My  father  disinherited  me,  and  left  all  his  property 
to  his  second  wife  and  her  brother.  He  gave  me 
nothing  but  my  black  horse,  and  my  mother's  old 
harpsichord." 

"  Disinherited  you  !  "  exclaimed  uncle  Philip. 
"  He  could  no  more  disinherit  you  than  he  could 
the  king  of  England.  The  whole  estate  belonged 
to  you  by  your  grandfather's  will,  though  your 
father  had  the  use  of  it  for  his  life  without  re- 
serve." 

Edward  colored  high.  "  How  did  it  happen  that 
I  never  knew  that  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  By  the  terms  of  the  will  the  matter  was  to  be 
kept  secret  till  you  were  five  and  twenty,"  an- 
swered Mr.  Bassett.  "I  don't  know  that  your 
father  was  obliged  to  tell  you  even  then,  though 
that  was  certainly  implied.  I  wonder  old  Mr. 
Winne,  the  lawyer  in  Exeter,  did  not  advise  you 
how  matters  stood." 

"  The  old  gentleman  died  before  my  father,  who 
took  his  business  out  of  Mr.  Winne's  hands  some 
j^ears  before,"  answered  Edward ;  "  naturally  young 
Winne  did  not  care  to  meddle  in  the  matter 
•  unasked.    But  are  you  sure  ?  " 


382  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

"  As  sure  as  that  I  sit  here,"  replied  Mr.  Bassett. 
"  My  father  was  one  of  the  witnesses  to  the  will. 
Kirton  hath  no  more  right  to  the  estate  than  my 
old  master  in  Tripoli." 

"  We  must  look  into  the  matter,"  said  my  hus- 
band. "  To-morrow,  if  you  are  able,  we  will  ride 
to  Exeter  and  take  council  with  Mr.  Winne,  who 
hath  his  father's  business,  and  is  an  honest  man. 
But  now  tell  us  of  your  adventures.  Were  you 
really  a  slave  in  Tripoli  ?  " 

"  That  I  was  for  five  long  years,  and  might  be 
to  this  day,  only  that  my  master  took  me  to  sea 
with  him.  We  were  wrecked  off  Sardinia,  and 
my  poor  master  was  drowned.  He  was  a  kind, 
charitable  old  man,  and  made  my  life  as  easy  as 
might  be.  The  ship  was  got  off,  but  I  slipped 
overboard  in  the  confusion,  and  swam  to  the  shore. 
There  I  abode  for  near  a  year  longer,  till  I  got  a 
chance  to  ship  for  Marseilles,  where  I  found  an 
English  vessel,  and  worked  my  way  home,  without 
a  tester  in  my  pocket,  —  not  like  the  uncle  in  the 
story-book,  who  comes  home  with  his  pouch  full 
of  gold,  you  see,  niece." 

"  You  have  brought  news  which  is  better  than 
gold,"  I  answered ;  "and  if  you  had  brought  noth- 
ing but  yourself  you  would  be  more  than  wel- 
come." My  husband  had  left  the  room  at  some 
call  from  Andrew,  and  I  took  the  chance  to  tell 
Mr.  Bassett  how  Edward  had  gone  to  Turkey  to 
look  for  him,  having  heard  that  he  had  been  seen 
in  Constantinople. 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary. 


383 


"Ay,  that  was  like  Ned,"  said  Mr.  Bassett. 
u-  But  why  did  his  father  cast  him  off  at  last?  " 

"  Because  he  was  bewitched,  I  think,"  I  an- 
swered, and  told  him  the  story. 

"  Ay,  so,"  he  said  thoughtfully.  "  As  there  is 
nothing  so  good  as  a  good  woman,  so  I  believe 
there  is  nothing  so  bad  as  a  wicked  woman.  But 
we  shall  soon  set  all  to  rights  now.  Kirton  will 
not  have  a  leg  to  stand  on.  I  doubt  if  he  shows 
any  fight  at  all." 

The  next  day  my  husband  and  his  uncle  rode  to 
Exeter,  found  Mr.  Winne,  and  examined  the  will. 
It  was  so  perfectly  explicit  that  there  was  no  room 
for  mistake.  The  proper  steps  were  taken;  and, 
as  Mr.  Bassett  had  predicted,  no  opposition  was 
made.  Indeed,  Dr.  Kirton  never  made  his  appear- 
ance at  all,  but  fled  from  Bristol,  where  he  had 
contrived  to  victimize  a  good  many  people.  Even 
his  attorney  at  Biddeford  lost  money  by  him,  or 
so  he  said;  though  people  in  general  were  of  the 
opinion  that  he  had  feathered  his  own  nest  pretty 
well,  and  some  did  not  scruple  to  say  that  he  had 
known  the  truth  all  along. 

It  may  be  guessed  with  what  feelings  we  re- 
paired to  Studley  Hall  to  take  possession  of  our 
rights.  Great  depredations  had  taken  place  by 
cutting  of  timber  and  the  like,  and  both  Edward 
and  Mr.  Bassett  groaned  over  the  loss  of  favorite 
trees.  There  had  even  been  a  threat  at  one  time 
of  pulling  down  the  Hall,  but  it  had  not  been  car- 
ried out ;  and  the  old  house  stood  safe  and  stately 


384 


Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


in  its  grove  of  nut-trees.  How  strange  it  seemed 
to  walk  freely  through  the  rooms  and  the  garden, 
and  feel  that  they  were  all  our  own !  In  turning 
out  the  room  where  poor  Rebecca  died,  I  discovered 
in  a  secret  cupboard  in  the  wall  some  valuable 
jewels  and  quite  a  sum  of  money.  I  had  no  mind 
to  profit  by  the  poor  thing's  riches,  which  might 
be,  for  aught  I  knew,  the  wages  of  iniquity ;  and, 
with  my  husband's  approval,  I  gave  them  all  to 
Mr.  Rowson,  to  be  laid  out  on  the  new  school- 
house  which  was  then  a-building. 

As  misfortunes  never  come  single,  so  good  for- 
tune sometimes  hath  its  flood  tides;  and  thus  it 
was  with  us.  The  poor  old  Hall  needed  a  deal  of 
repairing  to  make  it  comfortable,  or  even  habit- 
able, but  where  was  the  money  to  come  from? 
As  may  be  guessed,  Kirton  had  left  no  money 
behind  him.  We  were  considering  the  matter  of 
ways  and  means,  when  I  received  a  letter  from 
London  with  surprising  intelligence.  Mr.  Harpe, 
the  attorney  to  whom  my  mother  had  intrusted 
her  little  all,  was  dead,  and  had  left  me  by  will 
seven  hundred  pounds,  and  a  house  at  Hackney. 
I  was  never  more  surprised  in  my  life.  His 
nephew,  who  was  also  his  heir  and  executor, 
wished  me  to  come  to  London,  and  attend  to 
the  business  which  must  be  gone  through.  The 
young  man  wrote  very  politely,  I  must  say,  and 
enclosed  funds  to  pay  the  expenses  of  the  jour- 
ney. 

"How  in  the  world  came  this  man  to  leave 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary. 


385 


you  such  a  little  fortune?"  asked  Edward, 
when  I  gave  him  the  letter.    "  What  was  he  to 

you?" 

"  A  thief  and  a  robber,"  I  answered.  "  Don't 
you  remember  my  telling  you  the  story  of  my 
poor  mother's  little  property,  which  was  put  into 
his  hands  ?  " 

"  Well,  he  hath  restored  it  two-fold,  at  least," 
said  my  husband. 

"  Small  thanks  to  him  for  restoring  what  he 
could  no  longer  keep,"  I  answered.  "My  thanks 
are  due  to  God  and  to.this  man's  honest  executor, 
but  not  at  all  to  him,  that  I  can  see.  What  shall 
we  do  about  it  ?  It  is  not  a  very  convenient  time 
for  you  to  leave  home." 

"  And  I  suppose  you  will  not  go  without  me," 
said  Edward;  "  not  even  with  uncle  Philip  for 
escort." 

"  That  I  won't,"  I  answered.  u  Don't  flatter 
yourself  that  you  are  going  to  get  off  so  easily 
as  that.  Uncle  Philip  may  stay  and  see  to  the 
farm,  and  protect  Mrs.  Williams  from  the  Irish, 
who  so  haunt  her  imagination." 

There  was  great  talk,  about  this  time,  of  the 
Irish  whom  the  king  was  bringing  over  to  recruit 
his  army,  and  stragglers  from  the  new  levies  were 
straying  about  the  country.  Much  more  to  be 
pitied  than  feared  they  were,  for  the  most  part, 
poor  things !  for  they  could  speak  hardly  any 
English,  and  the  people  feared  and  hated  them 
in  equal   proportion.     A  couple  of  them  had 


386  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or% 


come  as  far  out  of  the  way  as  Applecoombe,  and 
had  asked  for  food  humbly  enough,  poor  fellows ! 
and  Edward,  finding  them  willing  to  work,  and 
apt  to  learn,  had  found  them  something  to  do 
about  the  farm.  They  had  not  shown  the  least 
evil  disposition  during  the  few  days  they  had  been 
with  us.  On  the  contrary,  they  had  shown  them- 
selves very  grateful  for  their  rations  of  brown  bread 
and  buttermilk,  and  their  beds  of  clean  straw  in  a 
shed.  But  Mrs.  Williams  would  not  be  persuaded 
that  they  were  not  the  advance-guard  of  a  band 
of  marauders  coming  to  murder  us.  Nor  did  she 
seem  much  consoled  when  Mr.  Rowson,  who  loves 
to  tease  her,  reminded  her  that  if  it  were  settled 
in  the  immutable  decrees  that  she  was  to  be  mur- 
dered by  wild  Irishmen,  the  sending  away  of  Den- 
nis and  Patrick  O'Finnegan  would  do  nothing  to 
reverse  it.  However,  they  have  staid  with  us  to 
this  day,  and  have  never  yet  murdered  any  one,  or 
done  any  harm,  except  by  their  blunders  now  and 
then. 

Well,  it  was  finally  settled  that  we  were  to  go 
to  London  by  sea,  from  Exmouth,  with  a  captain 
whom  Edward  knew,  leaving  uncle  Philip  and 
Andrew  to  garrison  the  farmhouse,  and  protect 
Mrs.  Williams.  We  set  out  about  the  middle  of 
September,  visiting  my  uncle  by  the  way,  and  re- 
ceiving from  my  aunt  a  string  of  commissions  for 
matters  from  the  London  shops.  We  had  rather 
a  stormy  voyage,  but  finally  arrived  in  safety 
about  the  first  of  October,  and  took  lodgings  near 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary. 


387 


my  Lady  Corbet's  old  house,  with  a  widow  lady 
with  whom  I  had  some  acquaintance. 

When  we  discovered  what  a  scene  of  excitement 
and  confusion  we  were  come  into,  we  almost 
wished  ourselves  at  home  again.  It  had  now  be- 
come an  open  secret  that  a  number  of  peers,  spirit- 
ual and  temporal,  had  united  in  an  invitation  to 
the  Prince  of  Orange,  who  was  making  great 
preparations  for  invading  England.  The  king, 
who  for  a  long  time  had  treated  with  contempt 
the  warnings  of  King  Louis  and  his  other  friends 
on  the  Continent,  had  become  suddenly  awake  to 
his  danger,  had  dismissed  some  of  his  advisers,  and 
ordered  others  to  keep  out  of  the  way,  and  had 
thus  late  in  the  day  brought  forward  proofs  of 
the  legitimacy  of  the  poor  little  baby  Prince  of 
Wales,  which  nobody  believed  in  any  the  more  for 
all  his  pains.  It  was  a  little  curious,  by  the  way, 
that  he  who  had  taken  so  much  pains  to  throw 
doubts  on  the  legitimac}^  of  his  first  wife's  children 
should  have  so  much  trouble  in  proving  the  birth 
of  this  child.  Every  one,  even  those  who  have 
since  been  bitterly  opposed  to  him,  was  praying 
for  a  favorable  wind  for  the  prince.  The  fruit 
and  flower  girls  made  their  profit  of  the  occasion ; 
for  oranges  were  bought  at  any  price  the  venders 
chose  to  ask,  and  every  man  who  could  procure 
one  had  some  kind  of  yellow  flower  in  his  hat  or 
button-hole,  while  orange  ribbons  and  orange 
plumes  were  flaunted  in  the  park  under  the  very 
nose  of  the  king. 


388  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

We  found  the  younger  Mr.  Harpe  to  be  a  very- 
sober  young  gentleman,  disposed  to  do  every  thing 
in  his  power  for  those  whom  his  uncle  had  wronged. 
The  man  had  been  worse  than  I  had  ever  supposed ; 
for  it  turned  out,  upon  examination,  that  Mrs. 
Price  had  actually  left  to  my  mother  a  house 
worth  at  least  two  hundred  pounds,  and  the  same 
amount  in  money ;  so  that,  after  all,  Mr.  Harpe 
had  left  me  only  my  exact  due.  Mr.  John  Harpe 
insisted  on  paying  interest  for  Mrs.  Price's  legacy, 
and,  indeed,  showed  himself  in  every  thing  as 
honest  and  open-handed  as  his  uncle  had  been 
the  reverse.  But  there  is  always  more  or  less  de- 
lay in  all  legal  proceedings  ;  and  one  week  dragged 
on  after  another,  and  still  we  were  kept  in  town. 
Oh,  how  I  did  hate  the  dirt  and  the  smoke  and  the 
smells,  and  long  for  a  breath  of  Devon  air  and  a 
good  drink  of  Devon  milk ! 

I  did  not  forget  my  aunt's  commissions ;  and, 
going  out  one  day  about  some  of  them,  I  made  my 
way  to  Mr.  Jackson's  shop,  where  I  found  Ursula 
behind  the  desk.  She  looked  old  and  worn,  and 
her  fretful  expression  had  grown  upon  her.  She 
pretended  not  to  recognize  me  at  first ;  and,  when 
I  made  myself  known  to  her,  she  affected  great  sur- 
prise at  seeing  me  in  town,  and  asked  what  had 
brought  me.  I  told  her  I  had  come  up  with  my 
husband  to  look  after  some  property  which  had 
fallen  to  me. 

"  Oh,  so  you  are  married,  after  all !  "  said  she  ; 
"  and  who  is  the  happy  man  ?  " 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  389 


«  Mr.  Studley  of  Studley  Hall  in  North  Devon," 
I  told  her. 

"  What !  he  who  was  my  Lady  Clarenham's  gen- 
tleman-usher ?  I  wonder  your  aunt  should  have 
allowed  you  to  make  such  a  match  as  that.  But 
I  suppose  after  her  own  daughter  went  to  the 
bad" —  She  saw  something  in  my  face,  I  sup- 
pose, and  she  checked  herself  with,  "  But  perhaps, 
after  all,  it  was  not  so  bad  as  people  said." 

UI  don't  know  what  you  mean,  or  what  people 
say,"  I  answered  warmly ;  "  I  know  that  my  cousin 
is  most  respectably  and  happily  married,  and  living 
in  her  own  house,  if  you  call  that  going  to  the 
bad.  But  you  are  just  the  same  Ursula,  I  see, 
always  with  a  wonderful  tale  to  somebody's  disad- 
vantage." 

"And  you  are  the  same  Dolly,  always  flying 
out  at  nothing,"  she  retorted;  and  then,  more 
gently,  "  But  don't  let  us  quarrel  when  we  have 
not  met  for  so  long.  I  only  repeated  what  I  had 
heard.  I  am  sure  I  am  glad  it  is  not  true.  Come 
into  my  parlor,  and  sit  awhile ;  it  does  me  good 
to  see  an  old  friend." 

I  did  not  want  any  words  with  her,  and  some- 
thing about  her  made  me  feel  sorry  for  her :  so  I 
followed  her  into  a  back  parlor,  behind  the  shop, 
with  loopholed  doors  by  which  she  could  keep  an 
eye  on  the  shopmen.  Here  she  would  have  me 
sit  down,  and  brought  out  some  cake  and  wine.  I 
asked  after  her  father. 

"  My  father  is  well,  but  very  feeble,  and  hardly 


390  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


ever  comes  near  the  shop,"  she  answered.  "  My 
uncle  and  aunt  Pendergast  are  staying  with  us  at 
present.  These  are  fine  times  for  us  Dissenters, 
Dolly.    We  are  courted  of  both  sides  alike." 

"So  I  hear,"  I  answered;  ubut  Mr.  Jackson  is 
not  a  Dissenter.    How  is  he  ?  " 

"  Well  enough,"  she  answered  carelessly.  "  He 
is  at  the  docks  about  some  goods  just  come  in,  or 
I  should  not  be  sitting  here  in  comfort.  But  I 
made  my  bed,  and  I  must  lie  on  it,  I  suppose.  We 
poor  slaves  of  wives  must  take  what  we  can  get, 
and  be  thankful." 

"I  am  quite  content  to  take  what  I  get,"  I 
answered.  "I  have  the  best  husband  in  the 
world." 

"I  am  glad  you  think  so,"  said  Ursula  more 
gently ;  "  and  indeed,  Dolly,  you  do  look  as  though 
things  had  gone  well  with  you." 

I  asked  her  about  my  Lady  Corbet. 

"  Oh,  yes,  poor  thing,  she  is  in  town !  You  had 
better  go  and  see  her,  Dolly :  she  often  speaks  of 

you." 

"  I  certainly  shall  do  so,"  I  said.  "  But  how  is 
she  prospering? " 

"  As  well  as  a  woman  can  who  has  married  a 
gambler  and  drunkard,  and  sees  her  money  melting 
away  in  his  grasp.  But  that  she  hath  property  of 
which  he  can  touch  only  the  income,  I  believe  she 
would  have  been  in  an  almshouse  before  now.  He 
never  goes  near  her  except  when  he  wants  to 
coax  or  bully  a  few  guineas  out  of  her.    He  would 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  391 


have  lier  give  up  her  house ;  but  she  clings  to  that, 
and  there  you  will  find  her,  like  a  mouse  under  a 
bushel.  But  here  comes  my  amiable  lord  and 
master." 

In  effect,  we  heard  the  next  moment  a  sharp 
voice  in  the  shop  asking  for  Mrs.  Jackson,  and 
in  the  same  breath  scolding  the  shopman  for  allow- 
ing the  sun  to  shine  on  a  piece  of  camlet. 

"But  'twould  be  all  the  same  to  you,  or  your 
mistress  either,  if  it  were  cloth  of  gold  or  velvet 
of  Genoa.  Nothing  goes  right  when  my  eye  is 
turned  away  for  a  minute." 

He  opened  the  door  with  a  frown  on  his  face, 
which  he  tried  hard  to  turn  into  an  amiable  smile 
when  Ursula  presented  me  to  him.  He  looked 
littler  and  meaner  than  ever.  I  could  not  but 
remember  poor  Mr.  Andrews,  whose  honest  love 
had  been  so  slighted.  Certainly  he  had  had  an 
escape. 

As  soon  as  I  could  I  went  to  seek  my  old  mis- 
tress. I  found  her  living  as  Ursula  had  said,  like 
a  mouse  under  a  bushel,  in  one  corner  of  the  old 
house,  attended  by  a  vinegar-faced  waiting-woman, 
—  a  great  contrast,  certainly,  to  former  days.  The 
poor  old  lady  looked  older  and  more  pinched  than 
ever,  with  her  false  locks,  and  the  youthful  laced 
cap  for  which  she  had  exchanged  her  widow's  veil. 
She  gave  me  a  warm  welcome,  and  really  seemed 
glad  to  hear  of  my  well  doing.  By  and  by  the 
waiting  damsel  left  the  room,  and  then  she  asked 
me  if  I  knew  any  thing  of  Mrs.  Williams.    I  told 


392  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or. 


her  my  old  friend  was  living  with  me,  and  I  hoped 
would  always  do  so. 

"Ay,  she  always  loved  you,"  said  my  lady. 
"  She  did  not  like  my  marrying  again,  and  I  gave 
her  warning  for  something  she  said ;  but  I  never 
meant  her  to  go.  However,  she  and  Sir  Philip 
Morley  would  never  have  agreed,  so  it  is  just  as 
well.  Sir  Philip  is  like  other  young  men  ;  but  we 
must  make  allowances,  we  must  make  allowances. 
He  has  a  great  many  engagements,  and  cannot 
give  me  as  much  of  his  company  as  we  could  both 
wish ;  but  he  is  kind  to  me,  oh,  yes,  he  is  kind  to 
me,  whatever  people  may  say !  " 

Somehow  I  liked  the  poor  old  body  all  the 
better  for  making  the  best  of  her  bad  bargain, 
instead  of  complaining  of  him  as  Ursula  Jackson 
had  done.  She  kept  me  a  long  time,  asking  all 
about  my  marriage,  and  really  showing  more  in- 
terest in  me  than  she  had  ever  done  before.  I 
was  about  to  take  my  leave,  when  she  toddled 
to  her  cabinet,  and,  after  some  hunting,  brought 
out  a  very  pretty  case  of  silver-gilt  spoons,  which 
I  remembered  as  having  adorned  the  table  on  great 
occasions.  She  gave  them  to  me,  saying  she 
always  meant  I  should  have  them  some  day,  and 
they  might  do  for  a  wedding  present.  They  were 
small,  but  very  heavy  and  prettily  wrought,  and  I 
was  admiring  them,  when  I  heard  a  man's  step  on 
the  stairs,  and  my  lady  said  rather  hurriedly,  — 

"  There,  put  the  box  in  your  pocket,  child." 

I  obeyed  instinctively  the  old  sharp  tone  of 


Mrs.  Studley  s  Diary. 


393 


command,  as  Sir  Philip  Morley  entered.  I  knew 
him  in  a  moment,  though  he  was  changed  and 
grown  stout.  Could  this  be  the  man  I  had  once 
fancied  I  loved,  —  this  debauched  looking  ruffler? 
He  greeted  his  wife  carelessly  enough,  and  then 
turned  to  me. 

"And  who  have  we  here?  As  T  live  by  bread, 
'tis  my  old  flame,  pretty  Mrs.  Dolly !  " 

"  Mrs.  Studley,  if  you  please,  sir,"  I  answered, 
with  a  courtesy,  and  by  no  means  relishing  the 
freedom  of  his  address. 

"  Oh,  ho !  we  are  married,  and  we  stand  on  our 
dignity,'1  said  Sir  Philip  with  a  laugh.  "  Well, 
'tis  a  pretty  dignity,  and  does  not  misbecome  you. 
Mrs.  Studley,  since  that  is  the  style,  I  trust  I  see 
you  well  and  happy  ?  " 

"Very  well  and  very  happy,  thank  you,"  I 
answered. 

"  And  how  long  have  you  worn  the  rosy  chain 
of  Hymen,  may  I  ask?"  said  he  with  a  sneering 
laugh*  "  For  of  course  it  is  a  rosy  chain  ;  we  all 
know  that,  eh,  Felicia?  "  turning  a  mocking  glance 
on  his  poor  wife,  who  seemed  divided  between  joy 
and  terror. 

"I  have  been  married  about  two  years,"  I 
answered  concisely.  I  felt  more  and  more  dis- 
gusted with  him  every  moment,  as  he  went  on 
paying  me  compliments,  and  seasoning  them  with 
ironical  speeches  to  his  wife.  My  husband  had 
promised  to  call  for  me,  and  I  never  listened  more 
eagerly  for  his  knock  than  I  did  then.    He  came 


394  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

at  last,  and  I  bade  my  poor  old  mistress  farewell. 
I  never  saw  her  again.  I  did  see  Sir  Philip  once 
more,  as  I  have  good  reason  to  remember. 

For  my  part  I  was  not  at  all  sorry  to  have  met 
him  again,  and  that  without  a  single  feeling  save 
of  shame  that  I  should  ever  have  thought  of 
loving  him.  I  don't  think,  after  all,  that  he  was 
so  very  much  changed :  it  was  my  eyes  that  were 
opened. 

As  we  were  walking  home  that  afternoon 
(it  was  the  7th  of  November)  we  observed  an 
unusual  commotion  in  the  streets.  Men  were 
gathered  in  knots,  shaking  hands  and  exchanging 
looks  and  words  of  congratulation,  as  on  some 
most  joyful  event.  My  husband  asked  one  man, 
—  whose  dark  face,  and  hat  pulled  over  his  brow, 
showed  that  he,  at  least,  took  no  share  in  the  gen- 
eral joy,  —  what  had  happened. 

"The  Devil  hath  broke  loose,  —  that  is  all," 
answered  the  man,  as  he  turned  away.  My  hus- 
band asked  another  the  same  question. 

"  'Tis  that  the  Lord  hath  sent  deliverance  to  his 
people.  Praised  be  his  name  that  I  have  lived  to 
see  it!"  replied  the  old  man,  whereupon  the  first 
cursed  him  for  a  traitor  and  an  old  Roundhead, 
and  I  believe  would  have  struck  him,  had  not 
Edward  interposed.  So  differently  was  the  com- 
ing of  the  Prince  of  Orange  looked  upon.  But 
the  number  of  those  who  mourned  was  as  noth- 
ing to  those  who  rejoiced.  We  hastened  to  our 
lodgings,  for  the  mob  were  already  giving  signs 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  395 


of  turbulence.  That  night  a  chapel  not  far  from 
us  was  sacked,  the  images  and  furniture  thrown 
into  the  street  and  burned,  and  the  priests  obliged 
to  fly  for  their  lives. 

But  the  tumult  that  night  was  nothing  to  what 
followed  the  flight  of  the  king.  The  Prince  of 
Orange  fairly  scared  the  poor  king  into  running 
away,  much  as  I  have  seen  our  big  tom-cat  drive 
a  rival  and  intruder  out  of  the  garden  by  merely 
looking  at  him  and  growling.  The  queen  and 
the  poor  little  baby  were  sent  away  first,  under 
the  escort  of  a  Frenchman  named  Lauzin  ;  and 
then  the  king  slipped  off  in  the  night.  He  did 
his  best  to  leave  anarchy  behind  him,  by  throwing 
away  the  great  seal,  and  writing  to  Feversham  to 
disband  the  army.1  As  soon  as  it  became  known 
that  the  king  had  fled,  every  thing  was  done  that 
could  be  done  to  preserve  order ;  but  in  vain.  That 
night,  the  longest  in  the  year  as  it  happened,  Lon- 
don was  a  scene  of  terrible  confusion.  All  the 
Roman  Catholic  chapels  and  religious  houses,  of 
which  many  had  sprung  up  during  the  last  three 
years,  were  sacked  and  burned  ;  and  the  inmates 
hardly  escaped  with  their  lives.  The  same  fate 
befell  the  mansions  of  the  Spanish  ambassador  and 
several  other  foreign  ministers,  and  many  private 
houses  were  burned  and  plundered.  The  mischief 
was  mostly  done  by  that  army  of  human  vermin 
which  seems  to  infest  all  the  chinks  and  cracks  of 


1  James  denied  afterward  that  he  meant  to  disband  the  army, 
but  his  letter  could  hardly  be  construed  to  mean  any  thing  else. 


396 


Through  Unknown  Ways  ;  or, 


great  cities,  and  in  part  by  the  apprentices,  always 
ready  for  mischief.  The  next  day,  London  looked 
as  though  it  had  been  taken  by  storm.  Our  house, 
a  very  plain  one  in  a  quiet  street,  was  not  even 
threatened  ;  but  Mr.  Jackson's  shop  was  plundered, 
and  he  himself  beaten  and  abused,  —  it  was  said,  by 
his  own  shopmen  and  apprentices,  who  certainly 
were  not  likely  to  love  him.  Lady  Corbet's  house 
was  also  assaulted ;  and  though  the  mob  were  di- 
verted from  it,  by  the  attack  upon  Wild  House, 
the  poor  old  lady  was  so  frightened  that  she  never 
held  up  her  head  again,  and  died  a  few  days  after- 
ward. 

All  day  long  the  peers  and  the  city  government 
labored  to  restore  order,  and  to  avert  the  conse- 
quences of  the  outrages  which  had  been  committed. 
The  Spanish  ambassador,  who  had  been  the  great- 
est sufferer,  was  lodged  in  the  palace,  and  treated 
with  all  the  observance  due  to  the  king  himself. 
He  was  a  sensible,  good-tempered  man,  and  ac- 
cepted graciously  the  apologies  made  to  him,  as 
did  the  other  ambassadors.  By  sunset,  things  had 
fallen  into  a  good  degree  of  order.  The  poor 
priests  and  nuns  had  been  cared  for,  or  had  found 
shelter  with  their  friends,  the  smouldering  fires 
had  been  put  out,  and  guards  were  stationed  in 
dangerous  places.  We  began  to  hope  for  a  quiet 
night.  Our  landlady,  Mrs.  Jennings,  who  had 
kept  close  all  day,  ventured  to  go  out  and  buy 
materials  for  a  hot  supper ;  and  I  was  anxiously 
awaiting  the  return  of  Mr.  Studley,  who  had  gone 


Mrs.  Studletfs  Diary. 


397 


to  ask  after  poor  Ursula  and  her  husband.  He 
came  at  last,  and  I  ran  down  to  the  door  to  meet 
him.  As  I  opened  it,  I  saw  his  face  wore  the 
pale,  resolved  look  I  knew  so  well ;  and  I  became 
conscious  of  a  distant  tumult  of  screams  and  cries 
of  alarm. 

"  What  now  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Nothing,  I  hope,  but  a  false  alarm,"  answered 
my  husband,  quickly  shutting  and  securing  the 
door.  "  Help  Mrs.  Jennings  to  close  all  the  shut- 
ters, Dolly.    That  is  the  very  first  thing." 

If  I  have  any  talent  in  the  world,  it  is  for  doing 
as  I  am  bid.  I  had  the  lower  shutters  closed  and 
barred  before  the  words  were  fairly  out  of  Ed- 
ward's mouth,  and  ran  up-stairs  to  do  the  same. 
Poor  Mrs.  Jennings,  coming  up  from  the  kitchen, 
with  both  hands  full  of  hot  beefsteak  and  03'ster- 
sauce,  could  only  stand  and  stare  aghast. 

The  noise  drew  nearer  and  nearer,  — such  a  noise 
as  I  hope  never  to  hear  again,  of  oaths  and  curses, 
mingled  with  the  shrieks  of  women  and  children, 
and  above  all  the  cry  of,  "  The  Irish,  the  Irish ! 
The  Irish  soldiers  are  coming  to  fire  the  city." 

"  What  does  it  mean?"  I  asked,  having  done 
all  I  could  do. 

"  Nothing,  I  hope,"  answered  my  husband. 
"  There  is  a  rumor  that  the  disbanded  army  is  on 
its  way  to  sack  and  burn  the  city." 

"  O  Lord !  and  he  calls  that  nothing,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Jennings,  setting  clown  her  dishes  for  the 
convenience  of  wringing  her  hands. 


398  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 

"  O  Lord  !  oh,  gracious  ! "  chorused  her  hand- 
maiden. "  Oh,  we  shall  all  be  murdered  and  rav- 
ished and  burned  alive  !  "  and  with  that  she  began 
to  scream. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Mary  Anne,"  said  her  mis- 
tress sharply.  "  How  dare  you  make  such  a  noise 
here  !  and  see  how  you  are  drizzling  that  gravy  all 
over  the  floor.  Go  and  bring  up  the  pudding  and 
the  mince-pies  before  I  cuff  your  ears." 

Scared  as  I  was,  I  could  hardly  help  laughing  at 
Mrs.  Jennings's  sudden  change  of  tone ;  but  I  felt 
sorry  for  the  poor  maid. 

"  Don't  make  a  noise,  but  keep  perfectly  quiet  : 
that  is  the  best  way  to  avoid  notice,"  said  I.  "  You 
see,  Mr.  Studley  thinks  it  may  be  a  false  alarm. 
—  How  did  the  news  come,  Edward?  " 

"  Nobody  seems  to  know,"  answered  my  hus- 
band. "  To  say  truth,  I  do  not  believe  there  is 
much  cause  for  fear.  I  met  Lady  Clarenham's 
nephew,  Mr.  Strangeways,  who  is  in  the  Life 
Guards  just  now.  He  says  he  believes  the  poor 
Irish  are' too  thoroughly  cowed  and  bewildered  to 
attempt  any  great  mischief,  even  if  they  wished 
it,  which  is  not  at  all  certain.  At  all  events  we 
can  do  nothing  but  keep  quiet  and  wait  the  event, 
commending  ourselves  to  Divine  protection." 

"  And  that  is  true  ;  and  at  any  rate  we  need  not 
leave  the  nice  supper  to  be  eaten  by  the  wild 
Irish,"  said  Mrs.  Jennings,  who  I  believe  worships 
the  goddess  of  cookery,  and  is  indeed  a  worthy 
priestess  of  that  divinity.   "  Mary  Anne,  you  have 


Mrs.  Studley's  Diary.  399 


not  put  the  mustard  on  the  table  ;  and  where  are 
the  pickled  walnuts  ?  " 

Mary  Anne  muttered  that  one  could  not  be 
thinking  about  such  things  at  such  a  time.  She 
believed  her  mistress  would  do  so  if  it  were  the 
day  of  judgment  that  was  coming  instead  of  the 
Irish. 

"  To  be  sure  I  should,  if  mustard  and  walnuts 
were  in  the  line  of  my  duty,"  answered  Mrs.  Jen- 
nings sharply.    "  Come,  now,  bestir  yourself." 

We  tried  to  do  justice  to  the  nice  things  pre- 
pared for  us ;  but  nobody  could  have  much  appe- 
tite with  those  dreadful  sounds  ringing  in  our  ears, 
—  cries  and  screams,  and  rushing  to  and  fro  of 
excited  crowds,  now  a  temporary  lull  and  now 
another  frightful  alarm,  "  They  are  coming ;  the 
wild  Irish  are  coming."  Edward  called  us  all  to 
prayers,  and  then  we  women  lay  down  in  our 
clothes.  Poor  Mary  Anne  was  so  frightened  at 
the  notion  of  going  up  to  her  attic  that  I  made  her 
sit  down  in  the  great  chair  in  my  room,  where  she 
was  asleep  and  snoring  in  two  minutes. 

The  longest  night  must  have  an  end,  and  so  did 
this.  When  morning  came,  people  bethought 
themselves  to  find  out  what  they  were  scared  at ; 
and  then  it  turned  out,  as  Edward  had  surmised, 
that  the  whole  was  a  false  alarm.  Nay,  there 
had  not  been  a  particle  of  foundation  for  it ;  no 
Irishman  had  attempted  any  outrage,  or  done 
worse  than  ask  for  food  at  a  farmhouse  door. 
The  report  had  first  been  spread  in  the  suburbs 


400  Through  Unknown  Ways;  or, 


by  some  men  dressed  like  country  wagoners.  It 
might  have  passed  for  a  silly  practical  joke,  if  the 
same  alarm  had  not  been  given  in  other  places, 
widely  distant  from  each  other.  The  whole  mat- 
ter was  evidently  a  conspiracy,  but  to  what  end,  or 
by  whom  planned,  remains  a  mystery.1 

All  this  confusion  and  anarchy  was  no  help  to 
our  business ;  and  I  began  to  think  we  should  drag 
out  the  whole  winter  in  London,  and  spend  all  our 
money  before  we  received  it.  We  staid  on  till 
after  the  capture  and  second  escape  of  King  James 
(though  I  don't  know  why  I  should  call  it  an 
escape,  since  all  that  any  one  wanted  of  him  was 
to  run  away  as  fast  as  he  could),  and  the  entry  of 
the  Prince  of  Orange  into  London.  Finally,  after 
the  Christmas  holidays,  and  when  matters  were 
becoming  a  little  settled,  we  saw  the  end  of  our 
business.  The  money,  which,  with  the  sale  of  the 
house  Mrs.  Price  had  left  me,  came  to  more  than 
nine  hundred  pounds,  was  sent  to  our  lawyer,  Mr. 
Winne,  in  bills,  as  we  meant  to  go  home  by  coach, 
and  did  not  care  to  have  so  much  about  us.  I  had 
executed  all  my  aunt's  commissions,  and  had  made 
a  farewell  visit  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pendergast,  and  to 
poor  Ursula  Jackson,  the  last  of  my  old  acquaint- 
ances, whose  husband  was  still  in  bed  from  the 
effects  of  the  beating  he  had  received  on  the  night 
of  the  riot.  Ursula  declared  he  was  more  scared 
than  hurt,  and  I  dare  say  she  was  right. 

We  were  to  travel  by  the  fast  coach,  which 


1  So  it  does  to  this  day. 


Mrs.  Studley^s  Diary. 


401 


makes  the  journey  in  three  days.  It  seemed  a 
very  short  time  to  me,  who  had  been  a  week  going 
over  the  same  ground  in  my  uncle's  coach.  The 
roads  were  good ;  and  we  had  pleasant  travelling 
companions  in  the  persons  of  a  dignified  clergy- 
man whom  I  had  met  at  Bishop  Lampleugh's,  in 
Exeter,  and  a  brother  of  my  Lady  Peckham's, 
Lord  Carewe,  who  had  been  out  of  the  country 
ever  since  Monmouth's  rebellion,  and  was  now 
going  down  to  visit  his  sister.  He  hath  since 
married  Mrs.  Winifred  Evans,  a  very  nice,  pretty 
young  lady  whom  Lady  Peckham  brought  up,  and 
who  saved  his  life  in  quite  a  romantic  way  when 
he  was  lying  out  in  the  fields,  after  the  woeful 
battle  of  Sedgemoor.  The  roads  were  good  for 
the  time  of  year,  as  there  had  been  a  hard  frost 
of  several  days'  duration ;  and  we  had  abundance 
of  wraps :  so  we  were  not  uncomfortable.  There 
was  something  exhilarating,  too,  in  such  rapid  trav- 
elling ;  for  in  many  places  we  went  at  the  rate  of 
seven  or  eight  miles  an  hour. 

But  we  were  not  to  get  off  without  an  adven- 
ture. There  had  been  talk  of  highwaymen  at  the 
inn  where  we  staid  the  first  night.  We  were 
travelling  somewhat  slowly  over  a  desolate  heath, 
when  the  driver  suddenly  pulled  up,  and  a  voice 
at  the  window  demanded  our  money  and  valua- 
bles. My  husband  and  Lord  Carewe  exchanged 
glances. 

"  We  will  do  you  no  harm  if  you  will  give  up 
the  money  we  know  you  have  about  you,"  said 


402  Through  Unknown  Ways  ;  or, 

the  masked  horseman.  "It  is  in  vain  to  deny, 
Mr.  Studley ;  we  know  that  you  carried  away 
near  a  thousand  pounds  from  London." 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  said  Edward  quietly.  "  I 
sent  the  money  by  sea  to  a  merchant  in  Bristol  a 
week  ago." 

The  highwayman  uttered  a  curse,  and  then  de- 
manded our  watches.  Dr.  Bristow  pulled  out  his, 
and  the  robber  reached  out  his  hand  to  receive  it. 
In  a  moment  Edward  had  him  by  the  throat,  while 
Lord  Carewe  held  a  pistol  to  his  ear.  His  horse 
started  from  under  him,  and  he  was  left  hanging 
from  the  coach-door  in  a  very  uncomfortable  and 
undignified  fashion.  His  companion,  seeing  how 
things  were  going,  clapped  spurs  to  his  horse,  and 
was  out  of  sight  in  a  minute. 

"You  can't  shoot,"  gurgled  the  half-choked 
robber.    "  Your  pistols  are  stuffed." 

"  That  is  your  mistake,"  answered  Edward,  in 
the  tone  of  polite  dignity  which  he  always  uses 
when  offended.  "  They  were  stuffed,  I  grant  you  ; 
but  the  stuffing  was  drawn  this  morning,  as  you 
shall  see  if  you  offer  to  stir. — Doctor,  will  you 
have  the  kindness  to  tie  this  gentleman's  hands? 
My  wife  will  lend  you  her  scarf  for  the  purpose." 

"  I  have  what  will  serve  even  better,"  answered 
Dr.  Bristow  calmly,  as  he  took  from  his  pocket  a 
new  silk  stole.  "  It  hath  never  been  used  in  the 
church,  or  I  should  have  scruples  as  to  putting  it 
to  so  base  a  service,"  he  continued,  as  he  secured 
the  hands  of  the  robber,  now  gasping  for  breath 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary. 


403 


under  Edward's  bulldog  grasp  of  his  throat.  The 
guard  at  the  same  time  tying  the  man's  legs,  he 
was  helplessly  at  our  mercy. 

"  Let  us  take  a  look  at  your  face,  my  friend," 
said  Edward,  as  he  took  the  mask  from  the  rob- 
ber's countenance.  I  shall  never  forget  the  look 
of  agony  he  bent  upon  me  as  I  recognized  Philip 
Morley.    I  spoke  his  name  aloud  before  I  thought. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  let  me  go,"  pleaded  the  poor 
craven  wretch.  "  Let  me  go,  and  I  will  never 
molest  any  one  again.  —  O  Mrs.  Studley,  plead 
forme!" 

The  men  were  obdurate  at  first ;  but  Dr.  Bristow 
and  I  finally  prevailed  with  them  to  leave  him, 
bound  as  he  was,  by  the  side  of  the  road.  We 
had  passed  a  carrier's  wagon  about  an  hour  before, 
so  we  knew  he  would  be  found  and  released  before 
night-fall.  A  stout  strap  was  substituted  for  the 
desecrated  stole,  which  the  doctor  remarked  would 
make  his  good  sister  an  apron  ;  and  we  left  him  sit- 
ting by  the  roadside,  a  pitiable  object  indeed.  He 
was  rescued,  as  we  had  foreseen,  and  told  some 
cock-and-bull  story  to  account  for  his  plight.  He 
left  the  country  at  once,  and  I  believe  has  never 
returned. 

We  had  no  further  adventures,  and  reached 
home  in  safety,  to  find  all  well,  and  Mrs.  Williams 
quite  reconciled  to  poor  Dennis  and  Patrick.  As 
the  season  wTas  advanced,  and  so  much  was  to  be 
done  at  the  Hall,  we  remained  at  Applecoombe  till 
May,  when,  having  let  the  farm  to  advantage,  we 


404  Through  Unknown  Ways  ;  or. 


removed  to  this  house,  where  we  have  now  lived 
for  two  or  three  months. 

I  must  confess  that  at  first  I  woefully  missed  the 
farm  and  its  interests.  But  I  soon  found  enough 
to  do,  and  my  baby's  coming  after  so  long  a  time 
filled  up  my  cup  of  happiness  to  the  brim.  My 
good  aunt  is  finally  satisfied  with  my  position, 
and  takes  great  credit  to  herself  for  establishing 
me  so  well.  I  am  quite  willing  she  should  do  so, 
since  it  pleases  her ;  but  I  can't  help  thinking  how 
it  would  have  been  if  she  had  been  determined  to 
marry  me  to  Mr.  Cheney  instead  of  Mr.  Studley. 
In  my  state  of  mind  at  that  time  I  should  probably 
have  been  as  passive  as  I  was  in  marrying  Mr. 
Studley.  Now  Mr.  Cheney  —  my  lord,  I  should 
say  —  has  fled  the  country,  and  people  say  has 
joined  King  James  in  Ireland.  All  his  great 
wealth  has  vanished  into  thin  air;  and  he  hath 
left  nothing  behind  him  but  an  immense  amount 
of  unpaid  bills  in  Exeter,  and  various  gambling 
debts.  His  poor  wife  has  returned  to  her  widowed 
mother,  who  tells  a  pitiful  story  of  her  wrongs. 
Sir  Robert  let  out  the  whole  story  the  last  time 
he  and  my  aunt  were  here,  and  I  thought  it  was 
a  good  deal  to  Betty  Rowson's  credit  that  not  a 
look  or  word  escaped  her  to  say,  "  I  told  you  so." 

One  thing  I  know.  No  considerations  of  worldly 
advantage  shall  ever  make  me  force  my  Barbara 
into  a  match  against  her  will.  The  baby  is  named 
Barbara,  after  my  husband's  mother,  and  my  dear 
Bab  Andrews,  from  whom  I  hear  two  or  three 


Mrs.  Studleys  Diary. 


405 


times  a  year.  She  is  well,  and  seems  to  be  happy 
in  the  life  she  has  chosen.  Her  aunt  is  dead,  and 
has  left  her  quite  rich ;  and  she  hath  removed  to  a 
place  called  Newcastle,  not  far  from  Mr.  Penn's 
new  town,  which  he  calls  Philadelphia.  Uncle 
Philip  visited  the  place  last  year,  and  says  it  is 
really  quite  a  nice  village.  Barbara  sent  me  a 
little  painting  of  her  house,  which  is  neat  and 
pretty.  She  has  a  school  for  girls,  which  gives 
her  pleasant  employment.  I  fancy  Uncle  Philip 
would  not  be  sorry  to  go  into  partnership  with 
her,  but  I  doubt  Bab  will  never  marry.  However, 
he  is  going  thither  again  next  year,  he  having 
taken  command  of  a  fine  ship  belonging  to  Master 
Birch,  in  Bristol :  so  there  is  no  telling  what  may 
happen. 

Mrs.  Williams  is  well  and  happy,  and  I  hope 
may  be  spared  to  us  for  many  years.  She  sur- 
prised us  all  by  going  to  church  when  baby  was 
christened,  and  has  been  to  hear  Mr.  Rowson 
preach  once  or  twice  since.  She  hath  her  crotchets, 
no  doubt,  but  I  am  sure  a  better  Christian  never 
lived  in  the  world  than  Mrs.  Mehetabel  Williams. 

Lord  Chesterton  was  married  last  year  to  no 
less  a  person  than  my  old  school  friend  and  pet, 
Mrs.  Patty,  Lady  Clarenham's  grand-niece.  She 
has  grown  up  a  very  pretty,  sweet  young  lady, 
and  will  make  him  a  nice  wife.  He  lives  at  home 
on  his  own  estates,  sees  to  his  tenants,  and  is  a 
very  sober,  religious  gentleman,  certainly  a  great 
contrast  to  what  he  was  when  I  knew  him  first. 


406  Through  Unknown  Ways. 

Mr.  Baxter  is  still  living,  and  in  much  easier  cir- 
cumstances ;  many  of  the  oppressive  restrictions 
which  were  laid  on  the  Dissenters  during  the  last 
two  reigns  having  been  taken  off,  though  there  is 
still  plenty  of  room  for  improvement  in  their  con- 
dition. Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pendergast  have  gone  to 
America,  and  are  settled  in  the  same  town  as  Bab 
Andrews.  My  Lady  Corbet  left  them  quite  a 
sum  of  money  in  her  will,  with  which  they  bought 
land :  so  they  are  well  to  do.  I  am  glad,  for  I 
always  liked  them.  Ursula  Jackson  is  a  widow, 
but  carries  on  her  husband's  business. 

And  now  I  come  to  the  end  of  the  third  of 
these  books,  which  I  began  under  such  different 
circumstances.  Looking  back  over  the  way  I  have 
come,  I  can  but  thank  the  Guiding  Hand  which 
has  led  me  by  such  unknown  and  untried  ways  to 
this  haven  of  rest  and  peace.  I  thank  God  that 
he  has  led  me,  often  sorely  against  my  will,  instead 
of  leaving  me  to  follow  out  the  paths  I  chose  for 
myself.  Verily,  "  He  leadeth  the  blind  by  a  way 
they  know  not." 


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